Actually, I had no intention of sharing my Father's Day. Not because I didn't want to, but because the idea never occurred to me. But I've decided it's been one of my favorites... as a daughter.
I thought a lot about my Dad this year. I thought about how he feels about being a Dad, about the Dad his Father was. I thought about my childhood, his childhood and everything in between. I thought about the time when I won't have a Father, or he might not have a daughter, because that day will come.
These words have always echoed in my heart...
"Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good."
I have become a bit morbid lately. Death is on my mind like living life is, because when we accept that one day this will all end... then you live more intentionally, more passionately and you have those conversations that you always meant to have, but never got around to.
So I called my Dad the night before Father's day and invited him out to breakfast. Just the two of us. I wanted to be completely present with him. I wanted to have more than a surface conversation.
Then later I visited my Grandpa's grave. It's the first time I've been since he's passed. I went out of respect to my Father. I told the boys stories about Grandpa and they picked nearby flowers (weeds) and mushrooms and placed them on his grave.
I cried for my Dad.
So breakfast rolled around and we sat across from each other. I gave him his gift first. I told him I remembered how he always wanted a huge fish tank, but that I couldn't exactly afford one and this will have to do.
He pulled out a child like painting of a fish under the ocean, the movie Nemo (my Dad loves all movies), and last but not least, a very old photograph of his father hanging telephone lines.