Twas the Day after Dad's Day

“My dad can beat up your dad!”

“Oh, yeah? Well, my dad can throw a football over one hundred yards!”

“Yeah? Well, my dad is so rich he owns a mansion at the beach, four cars, three boats and an airplane!”

“Oh, yeah? Well, my dad can . . . um – my dad can . . .”

And the thing was that I couldn’t ever figure out how to finish that. The physical probabilities were that my dad could have beaten the tar out of any number of my friends’ fathers, but I could never picture him in a fight. And my dad was an athlete, but he had two daughters and we didn’t care about tossing around a football so I had no idea what my dad’s athletic skills truly were. And, my dad was successful in business and we never wanted for anything, but he wasn’t a really flashy kind of guy (and my mom is crazy thrifty) so we never had really fancy stuff. To top it off, my dad wasn’t a doctor or a lawyer or a . . . um, I think that is what all dad’s in my town were – except mine. He was a wholesale hardware distributor. Explain that to your friends on the playground.

Suffice it to say that I was not a fan of the my dad vs. your dad game, despite the very deep knowledge I possessed that told me that my dad was the very best dad for me. He was funny and affectionate. He was quietly supportive, so I always knew I had a solid foundation to stand on. He was kind and wickedly smart. He was ethical and tactful and never made me feel small. He was a good teacher, but never afraid to learn. And, most importantly, I always got the feeling that he knew who I was at my core and how I felt at any given moment without my having to say anything. So I could always just be me. And that, I always felt (and still do) is pretty remarkable in a dad.

But all of that is hard to cram into an effective “My dad” statement. Watch.

“My dad is taller than your dad!”

“Oh, yeah? Well, my dad knows who I am even when I forget!”

Hmmm . . .

And now that I’m older, I still love that my dad understands I don’t always have the right words at the right moments and that if you’d give me an hour and some paper and pen, I might be able to begin to tell you how I feel. So, another father’s day came (and went) and all I could do was leave a quick message with my own kids to say, “Have a nice day,” and hope that he knew how much deeper that went.

Last night, the movie of one of my favorite books was on. Now, normally, I can’t stand movie versions of books I love. The movies most always disappoint me. And while Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird is a brilliant book, the movie is a fairly good representation of that brilliance. So, I watched it with my husband and laughed and cried and felt awed by the simple beauty of the story. But what hit me most last night, as Father's Day drew to a close, what I don’t think I’ve ever really felt in all the times I’ve read this book, is how wonderful Atticus Finch is as a father. He is funny and affectionate. He is quietly supportive, the firmest foundation in all of Maycomb. He is kind and wickedly smart. He is ethical and tactful and never makes his children feel small. He is not afraid to teach his children right and wrong, but remains open to learning from them what they have to teach. And what they have to say, or not say, is okay. So it is that he lets Jem be Jem. He lets Scout be Scout. He is remarkable.

And it hit me, the perfect comeback. Go ahead. Try me.

“My dad is smarter than your dad.”

Half a smile blooming on my face, “Oh, yeah. Well, my dad is Atticus Finch.”