I’m back, dudes. I’m back.
I know you haven’t noticed anything, but I’ve not been able to post anything from the regular Dude Fort for the past week or so. I’ve had to actually resort to posting via e-mail. It was driving me nuts because I couldn’t figure it out.
Although, eventually, of course, I did. Which is why I’m going on and on about being back. Boy, I can really run a subject into the ground pretty quickly, can’t I?
Let’s talk music. The family and I are headed to the movies to see Man of Steel tonight because it’s Father’s Day and I’m a father and that’s what I want to do.
I like Father’s Day. Mostly because of this right here. Other than my birthday, it’s just about the only other day during the year that I can be almost assured that we’re going to do what I want to do, eat where I want to eat. And that’s a nice thing, especially considering how I adore Mexican food, while the rest of my immediate family — at best — tolerates it.
As I sit here hammering away at the keyboards, it’s raining like you wouldn’t believe. Well, you probably would believe. I mean, there’s no giant boats floating past with different animals at each window, or anything. It’s just a heavy rain is what I mean.
But it brings to mind my own dad. It’s the inclement weather. See, growing up, I didn’t always see a lot of my dad. He was a doctor and that kept him pretty busy. Unless there was some sort of sporting event. He made the time. Not only was he a spectator, before I hit high school and began playing on school teams, my dad more often than not was at least one of my coaches.
He wasn’t one of those — literally — fair-weather coaches, content to put their name on the trophy and leave the hard work up to someone else. Nope, Dad was out there working with us every day we practiced. If it was pouring down rain on a game day? He was waiting with us, hoping it would clear just long enough to get on the field. Heck, I remember one football game — in Dallas, Texas, mind — where it snowed the night before the game, leaving behind a nice little six-inch cover. We played anyway. And there he was, on the sidelines, cheering us on and telling us what to do. So not much different than any other day, really.
We haven’t always gotten along all that well, my dad and me. Divorce is a difficult time, not only for parents, but the relationship between parent and child. Some people would give up and just let the relationship whither and die. Not Dad. He kept coaching, only this time he stepped back and only subtly provided lessons that I could follow or not. He helped lay out the path back toward loving parent and loving child, but did it in such a way that it didn’t feel forced.
Which can only be a good thing further on down the line. And, so far, I’d have to say it is.
Good thing I’ve been paying attention all these years. He’s been a good coach in the full-contact sport of Dadding. I learned what to do and what not to do. Often at the very same time.
Thanks for the lessons, Dad.
You’ve been super.
Well, not this kind of super, but I think you get my meaning.
You’ll notice there was no actual serenade. Mostly that’s because I, apparently, still am having issues with the blogging platform. I tried to embed the fan-made video for R.E.M.’s song, I Am Superman, but it didn’t work.
So here’s a link to it. Go watch. Enjoy.