I spent about a half an hour with my dad tonight, trying to fix a leaking window pane. The whole experience - the way he handled the situation - reminded me of how much, and of why I love my dad. He is kind, ingenuitive , goofy, crafty (when it saves money) and more than anything, he loves - perhaps more than any person I know. Those of us who are blessed to be part of the family of people that my father loves, have come to know, and perhaps to take for granted, his unfailingly kind nature. I can't count the amount of times that he has slipped me a $5 bill to get a hamburger or a coffee. Beyond small gifts, my father's presence in my life is steady, kind, extremely unexciting, supremely loving and, above all, Godly. This is the measure that I judge potential men against, and it is a tall order. I am proud to have him as a father, and yet this pride brings with it a certain grief - a sadness that my son may never know this incredible man.
I haven't quite come to grips with the fact that the man who has shaped my life so much might not touch my son's life at all.
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