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The Evidence of Love – A Father’s Day Tribute

Just because I'm married to him, it doesn't mean I naturally default in my opinion that he is the greatest father.  No, each father, like each mother, needs to earn that title.  My husband has.  My children have a great father.

One of the reasons I knew I wanted to marry him was how he interacted with children.  The first time he met my family, a Thanksgiving dinner many moons ago, not ten minutes had passed before I found him wrestling with my young nephews on the living room floor.  Through all the hooting and hollering, the choke holds, the tiny fingers clawing the carpet to get free from the big brute, I knew that was the man I wanted to be the father of my children. 

Two sons later, I feel no different.  And though I wanted daughters, Charles' wrestling moves make me realize why he needed sons.  I can't think of a happier boy in the world than the sons of Charles Ijames. 

A daddy who comes straight home each night and attends to his business in the same order since our first child was born.  Namely, giving mommy a kiss, putting down what's in his hands, and immediately engaging in play with the boys and the dogs. 

It's no wonder that the ten to twenty minutes after the end of his workday, even the dogs know that when the phone rings, it means daddy is pulling into the driveway.  No one bothers to answer the phone.  Those interested in roughhousing run to the door and anxiously await the tiny, tiny, click of daddy's car being put into park; the moment when they can open the door and run into the garage.  

My only involvement with any creature, either two or four legged, from that point on is saying any one of my token exclamations such as: Keep it down!; Please, my ears!; and No, not on the wood floors!

But, they're having fun.  The paint chipping on the walls, the tears in the furniture, the broken wall sculpture in the hall that no one will fess up to, and my precious, precious wood floors with all its divots and scratches can testify to such.  I can't help but think it's worth it.  Not all the time, mind you, because I do appreciate a fine looking house.  But, in the grander scheme of things, yes, it's worth it.  

For, one day, when my boys are grown and their father needs a cane to get out of his recliner, (on account of the weak knees, you see, from the natural course of twenty plus years of doing nothing in moderation with his sons), I will take comfort when my grandchildren are wrecking their mother's house playing with their fathers, my sons.  It will mean my boys love their children as much as their daddy loved them.

Oh, I nearly forgot.  How silly of me to leave this to the end.  It is, by far, the most important thing that makes my husband the best father.  He loves me.  He loves me unconditionally.  He thinks its cute when I snore, that I look beautiful without make-up, and am a great mother even when I hide in my room during a temper tantrum.  He says these things to me in front of my sons.  He treats me like a lady, admires me for being a woman, and loves me as his wife.  All in front of his children.  There is no greater gift for a father to give to his children, is there?  Happy Father's Day, Dear, you've earned it.