By Lori Welch Brown

My good friend Liz recently requested that I write a ‘happy, fun’ column as opposed to the last two Debbie Downers. “Seriously, Lori,” she said. “stop making me cry.” What can I say? A beloved friend died earlier this year and then I had to say goodbye to my sweet boy, Dozer. Now we are rolling into Father’s Day, and all I can think about is how much I miss my dear, sweet dad!

I could write about all his funny anecdotes—like the time we were at a hotel breakfast buffet.

Always a man with a hearty appetite—guess I have him to thank for my Hungry Man palate—I looked over as my 88 year old dad was taking a bite of something, and asked, “What’s that?.” Straight faced, he responded, “S’moreofthat.” As in, I’ll have me some more of that. I busted out laughing. I seriously didn’t think he still had it in him so bravo, Dad.

Jokes aside, dads are pretty funny. Take my husband XXL for instance. He is a dad, and he provides me with a ton of quality comedic material. From the way he (mis)pronounces certain (most) words, to the way he does laundry (perplexing), to his encyclopedic knowledge of every sandwich/sub shop along the Eastern seaboard. Not to mention his taste in TV shows (snorefest) and (bizarre-o) condiment usage. God forbid he has a ‘dry’ sandwich. I once watched in horror as he put a HUGE slice of RAW onion on a cinnamon raisin bagel which seriously made me rethink our entire relationship.

MEN. They are a different breed. No denying it. God love ‘em.

But they are also our rocks and our pillars. Our protectors and safe havens. If XXL had his way, he would take every weight of worry and every problem known to man, and place them all on his broad shoulders and carry them for us.

Things are a little different these days, but back when I was growing up, Dad had the responsibility of being the sole provider for his family and keeping a roof over our heads. He got up every day before any of our little eyes were open and went to a job he didn’t love no matter how he felt because he knew he had to put food on the table and pay the mortgage. No one asked him about his passions and desires. He had no idea what his Myers-Briggs was, and if you had asked him about his enneagram, he would have said he didn’t have time to go to the doctor. There was no such thing as paid leave in his world.

He didn’t have the opportunity to go to college—heck, he didn’t even have the opportunity to finish the eighth grade. School was a privilege his family couldn’t afford when there was work to be done. But not once did he ever use that as an excuse or consider himself a victim of his circumstances. No—he considered himself a lucky man to have a job that he could be proud of, but he was smart enough to know how important education would be to his children. And while college wasn’t something either of my parents attended, both of them made sure that our feet hit the floor every morning, headed to the bus, and encouraged us all to further our education.

But hey—dads aren’t all work and no play. My dad played all the time, but his play wasn’t on a golf course or racetrack. His play was referee’ing our backyard wiffle ball games and coaching my brothers’ little league teams. His play was planting our garden and fixing our car and teaching us how to swim and eventually how to drive. He taught us a million little things every day just by living because he had four pairs of eyes watching his every move. We watched as he said, “thank you” and “please.” We watched as heated up the griddle and made our pancakes every Sunday morning. We watched as he came home to our family every day after work and when he came into our rooms to say “good night.”
While I no longer have my own dad, I am fortunate to be surrounded by men who, like my dad, are doing their best to make good humans—a role that never ends. I still hear my dad’s voice in my ear saying, “Take a jacket,” or “Check the oil.” My nephew, Charlie, continues to amaze me with his mad dad skills. I love watching him with his kids. In him, I see my dad in a million little ways.

Gosh, Liz. Not sure if this column is turning out fun and/or happy, but know this. I count having a dad like I did one of the greatest blessings of my life. I am blissfully aware what a gift that was because many people are/were not fortunate like me. I’m not sure where I would be today if I didn’t have his guidance, rules, and boundaries—not to mention his love—although I could have lived without his curfews.

My hope is that everyone can know love like a father’s love.

If you’re reading this and still have your dad, give him a big, fat hug and then tell him you want “s’moreofthat”. Dads are worth going back for seconds and thirds…and maybe even a trip to the golf course.

About the Author: Lori is a local writer, painter and pet lover who loves to share her experiences and expertise with our readers. She has been penning a column for the OTC for over 25 years. Please follow Lori online on Medium for more missives like this.