Thank You for Letting me Fall, Dad

Last week, we had pizza at a local place with a big playground and grassy area where the kids run around before and after dinner.  Several times, from 10-20 feet away, I watched my almost-three-year-old fall into the dirt.  Several times.  Each time, my instinct is to run to him and scoop him into my arms.

But I wait. 

I call out, "You're OK!" and hold my breath until I know he's not crying.  Nine times out of ten, he picks himself up, brushes off the dirt, and runs again.  I breathe out.  He may have some scrapes and bruises and bumps, but he's learning to be resilient. He's OK.

This reminded me of the ways my parents taught me to pick myself up and take care of myself growing up.   They let me fall, and they let me fail, and they didn't bail me out.

(Not literally, of course, because I never got into any real trouble, so bailing me out of jail was not a problem, at least.)

For Father's Day this year, I'm celebrating the ways that my dad let me pick myself up and dust myself off.

Thank you for getting me a skateboard, and not telling me "I told you so" when I tried to do wheelies and fell off.

Thank you for giving me the wings to fly on a school trip to Colorado when I was 14.  Allowing a chronically ill teenager to travel thousands of miles away must have taken a lot of courage.  

Thank you for attempting to teach me how to drive a stick shift (in a touchy Chevy Citation, no less) and finally giving up and helping me install a stereo in an automatic '77 Aspen instead.  My couch on wheels.

Thank you for driving me an hour away to Gary to interview for a semester abroad in Scotland through the Rotary Club, and for consoling me when I wasn't chosen.

Thank you, Dad, for paying for my college, and asking me to get a job to cover my books and extracurricular expenses.  You taught me the value of working but not having to stress out about it while I was getting an education.

Thank you for pushing me out of the nest as soon as I was got my degree, because it was time for me to grow up.  You were supportive and strong, and encouraging and empowering as I whined and protested.

Thank you for helping me with the down payment on my first house, but making it clear that it needed to be paid back.  

Thank you for standing by me as I went through a divorce, Dad.   You brought me home to you and mom as soon as you could and held my hand and my heart, showing me that great men were really out there.  You heard me cry and dried my tears, but you didn't pity me and you didn't baby me.  I heard the anger in your voice for what I was going through but you didn't stoop to bashing. 

Thank you for advising me on how to save my house and steering me from bankruptcy on my own budget and my own schedule.

Thank you for walking me down the aisle to marry the man of my dreams, and thank you for being happy for me, always.

Thank you for forming such a beautiful bond with my son - the grandson who adores you - and accepting my hyper-vigilant, anxious mothering without snapping back.

Thank you, Dad, for always believing in me.

I love you.