Happy Father's Day

As I sit here on our deck in da 'burbs, beer in hand with the sun slowly fading in the west just below the treeline, I'm thinking about my father today. 

Dennis Akers

It's not just Father's Day that I reflect on my dad and his life: since his (completely untimely and universally unfair) death in 2005 at 65, there's scarcely a day that goes by where I don't think about him and all the stuff he tried to teach me.

My dad was a working class guy--dropped out of high school at 17, got his GED in the Marine Corps and was an IBEW union electrician for nearly 40 years.

Sure, he worked hard for what he earned. One of my memories of him as a little kid—on the rare occasions I'd be up early enough—was him packing his lunch bucket and methodically putting on his workboots at 5:30AM. In the summer heat, in the dead of winter, the calendar didn't matter, he worked.

But beyond the solid, working class man story (all too rare now and he knew he was one of the last generations to enjoy a very good pay for a good day's work) was the other, essential side to my dad:  he was an extremely engaged father and his speciality was what I like to think of as 'long-game parenting.'

He had a knack for saying stuff that sticks with me to this day.

To wit—on dealing with life's frustrations, recriminations and just general bullshit he'd say:  "The sun comes up in the east and sets in the west." Meaning, time passes, wounds heal. And if you hang in there long enough, you see that time marches on...with or without you.

On money: "It only costs a nickel more to go first class." Even though he came from a working class background, it was my dad who taught me to enjoy good food, good hotels and that money, essentially, is a tool. It passes through your hands for a little while and if you're smart, you'll see it as a mechanism to get where you want to go, while not letting the pursuit of it rule your entire existence.

But the thing that he said to me that sticks with me the most was, "You're a writer. You are." 

This came out of a conversation with him, during my waning college days (days that he paid for, all of it, out-of-pocket) where I lamented to him that I had no idea where I was going or what I was going to do professionally. 

At the time, I argued with him, "But I haven't written anything that's been published...and you can't be a writer if you aren't recognized as such by other people."

I remember him being so insistent, "No. You write, that's what you do." 

On the writing part and getting published:  I'm still working on it. 

But for me, now in hindsight, that conversation was more about my father saying that he knew he was financing my dreams and the only thing he asked for in exchange...was that I go do the thing I wanted to do. And to try to find some happiness in the pursuit.

And so. That's my charge—and believe you me, just being happy in the moment has been a big enough job these past few months.

But I have the benefit, now, of being able to conjure his voice, his words, his wisdom...his keen sense of the world and the daughter he raised.

It's a vast understatement to say that I was lucky to have him as a father.

So Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there...and remember that the time you spend with your kids is so very important. And if you do it right, your efforts will far outlast you. 

And your words will continue to serve your children throughout their lives.