Real Men Drive Mini Vans

Yesterday I was on my way to a street festival in a neighboring town. I was in the car with my Mother In Law, Sister in Law, 2 nieces, and my two kids. We pulled into a gas station off the interstate, and while my Mother in Law pumped gas, I watched a man dealing with his children. 

Had I passed this guy in the parking lot, or the grocery store, or in Target, I would have assumed he had a motorcycle, or a sweet truck... something that matched the tattoos and cut off tank top. But there I sat, watching him at his Mini-Van, filled with unruly kids. I sympathized, I have often been the one dealing with the car load of unruly children, where my means of survival includes visualizing an island somewhere, where I lay on a beach, with a cold drink in hand. 

So I watched his scene unfold. What I saw was not what I expected.

One boy in particular was having a meltdown. Not the kind of meltdown my kids have, but the kind where he flaps his hands, making panicked noises and hitting himself in the face. The kind where nothing the Dad did, or said, seemed to matter because this boy couldn't get past whatever it was that was upsetting him. Through it all, this man, with the tattoos and earring and rock n roll T-Shirt stayed calm. He never let his face show if he was frustrated, or upset himself. He never faltered in his low voice and calm words. He didn't touch the boy, who I can only assume must have been his son, but he got down to eye level, and tuned out the noise from the van behind him, tuned out the stares of strangers (like me) watching his life story unfold. He tuned that all out and focused on this boy. On reassuring and comforting this boy. I couldn't hear his words, but I saw when the boy heard him. I saw the relief in the boys shoulders when he realized that things were going to be okay, at least for a little while. And I saw the man smile, and gently guide to boy back to the van, where he carefully buckled his seatbelt without touching him. Then he leaned in the backseat, said a few words to the other occupants, got in his van and drove away.

I am often times amazed by the way people are not always what we expect them to be. 

So today, Fathers Day, I want to say Thank You.

To the dads who stepped out of their box and traded motorcycles for minivans- even if it's just for a few hours a day. 

To the dads that love their children even when it would be easier to hit the road. 

To the dads that don't let their girls wear short shorts, or let their boys cuss, and expect their children to say yes maam and no sir.

To the dads, like my husband, who are Dad to the kids who came with their wife, and never treat them any differently, until one day you forget that they are not the birth parent, because it has become so ordinary.

To the dads, like mine, that still do whatever it takes to make sure we have all that we need, and most of what we want.

To the moms, who play the role of dad.

To the grandfathers, who always stop by our table at Cracker Barrel to say hello and comment on what beautiful babies we have, sometimes sharing stories of their grand-babies, with so much pride it seems that they will burst.

To the men who are overseas, fighting so that our children will be raised in the land of the free.

To all the men that are dads, even though they didn't have to be.

To the dads that go out and work long hours to provide, and the dads that stay home and work long hours to nurture.

Any man can father a child, but it takes a Man to be a Father.

Thank you, and Happy Fathers Day.