Our fathers. They’re dependable, intelligent, simple, round, flat, warm-hearted, hard-minded, hard-working. We share with them, we share apart from them.
We remember them. How they taught us the power of forgiveness. How to take a fearless, moral inventory in order to heal and transform ourselves. How to take responsibility for our actions, to never brag, to fight for the underdog. How to love, be compassionate. How to be a down right good citizen.
We imagine them. See a quiet moment in the barn without kids. Arms filling grain pails, lifting buckets, moving haunches in for the morning milking, listening to the Dow Jones. Uninhibited. A quiet muse.
We celebrate them. Make a big deal out of their birthday. Add ridiculous flare to their cakes. Light candles. Buy gifts with rainbows for them when we’re younger, throw surprise parties for them when we’re older. Succeed at both because they love us.
We idolize them. Try to wear their gloves, baseball mitts, boots. Embellish stories, make them our heroes.
Some soften. Some harden. Some talk to us, some don’t.
The point is at one time this person held you.
And they smiled.