The Thing About My Dad
In Which Work is Love.
Around 5:30AM, every weekday, just after my alarm wakes me for the first time, I hear the small noises my father makes as he runs the single-cup coffee machine in our house, just outside of the granny-suite I share with my sleeping children. Shortly afterward, I hear the front door as it opens, and closes again. There is the sound of a car starting, and then the sound of its engine, fading away into the cool, dark morning.
My kids, tucked safe away in their bunks, never seem to hear any of this; they also sleep through my first two alarm cycles. I prefer to take my time to wake up, and need several rounds of “snooze” mode before I rise. Once the music of my first morning wake-up call fades away, I stay snuggled under my warm covers, and listen to those muffled noises Dad makes as he goes about his early morning routine. Afterward, I roll over and go back to sleep again.
Long before I wake for my final alarm at 6:30AM, Dad has taken his coffee, and gone. He returns between 6:30PM and 7:00PM, every single weekday.
I realize, writing about this, that at minimum, he is away from his own home for at least twelve hours, every day.
The thing about my Dad is, he rarely varies this routine.
The thing about my Dad is,he rarely gets sick, and almost never stays home from work.
The thing about my Dad is, he rarely takes vacations, and has been working year round, unflinchingly, for almost as many years as I can remember.
The thing about my Dad is, he rarely ever complains.
Lately, as I turn over to go back to sleep, I wonder how my Dad manages to get up so early every single day, and think of the unfairness of it. When does my Dad get to just hit “snooze,” roll over, and go back to sleep? Only on weekends, I believe.
Right now, I am unemployed. Dad is and has been supporting me while I am looking for work and beginning the arduous process of getting back on my feet.
The thing about my Dad is, he never gives me a hard time about how long it is taking me to find my way.
He does joke, sometimes, that my turn will come someday, and it will be my turn to support him. I am certainly willing to try, but I always wonder if I will ever really be up to the task. Some part of me is in awe of my father’s incredible work ethic, and I often worry that I will never reach his level of dedication to his family and to his work.
The thing about my Dad is, I wish I could be more like him.
I wish I could take care of my own children, the way Dad has always taken care of his.
The thing about my Dad is, he still loves his crazy daughter. Every morning, when I hear him drive away, I think about work being love made visible.
I wish I had the strength to get up every day and make love visible.
The thing about my Dad is, I really love him, too.
