Today is father's day and, yes, I know I'm very late posting anything, but we were all out celebrating said Father's Day and now that we're back home and settled in for the night, I finally have time to write something.
First, for those wonderful folks who have been following and commenting on my posts about my writing angst, thank you for your wonderful encouragement! Second, you may be interested to know that I've completed the rewrite from 1st to 3rd person (but I kept a copy of the MS in 1st person, just in case) and added a new first chapter. Now I can finally move on and continue writing the story forward. I have two more days off this week so I anticipate getting a lot of writing done.
Now, on to the Father's Day post. My husband is an awesome father. I could never have asked for better. He has been involved since day one, changing diapers, feeding babies, rocking them to sleep, dealing with loose teeth (I get squeamish about teeth), and everything else from the time they were born until now. He even suffered through the births right by my side and I know it was just as hard or harder for him to watch and not be able to do anything, especially when they were all complicated, painful, and tenuous. I treasure him as a husband and father. I know very well how lucky I am and count my blessings daily.
There are a lot of people today who will say that they have the best father in the world. I'll add my voice to those and say that mine is certainly among the ranks of the best. By way of explanation, my mother has been badly ill in one way or another for over 30 years. She is an extremely high strung, demanding, emotional woman who made life trying for all of us. We loved her, but she was a challenge to deal with on a daily basis and my sister and I have always been conflicted about her, loving her because she was our mother, but feeling bitterness and frustration over her behavior and the way she treated us. As an adult I'm able to understand that her trials and her personality did not mesh and has never been capable of dealing with her lot in life. My heart breaks for her misery, but she is a prickly woman who is difficult to care about.
To his everlasting credit, for as long as I can remember my father has been the steady, quiet rock who held our family together. He never, every complained. He only ever did what needed to be done and what was best for mom and for the family. I admire his strength of character, knowing what fights were important and when to back down (many of the backing down times I couldn't have done myself). He is a remarkably courageous man with the patience of all the saints put together. He has a genius and considered intelligence, and a quiet, gentle demeaner. He is fair and open-minded, curious, and generous. He has never been overly demonstrative, but I never cared. He hugged us when we hugged him, he helped us with homework, he showed encouragement when we needed it. He didn't have to be any other way because he showed us everyday how much he cared by shouldering the lion's share of the burden of caring for our family without a peep of complaint.
Needless to say, I adore my father. I respect and admire him, and most of all I thank him from the bottom of my heart for everything he ever did for us. And he never once asked for thanks. Never. Ever. That's just one more reason why I should thank him.
And because today is Father's Day, I will thank him. Publicly. Right here.
Thanks Dad, for everything. I love you. Happy Father's Day.