As I write this, on the eve of Father’s Day, I first want to wish all dads a happy and joyful day, whether a father to your children by birth, or one by acquisition, your example and guidance is the fertile soil upon which younger minds and lives will be sown, take root and grow. Fatherhood is a responsibility not to be taken lightly, and the best among us accept and recognize that fact. We do not own our children. We do not own their lives. We are the stewards and caregivers of something greater than ourselves, and while we may strive to be like our children, we should not make them like us. The future belongs to them. Love without ownership. Allow them to follow their own paths. Their own dreams.

As Khalil Gibran said in an oft quoted passage of The Prophet:

“You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.”

There are two men in my life that I have known as “Dad”. The father of my birth was a kind and gentle man of quiet and steady intelligence; a careful guiding hand; a man of quiet emotion and powerful love. It has been 23 years since he left this earth, but he remains with me to this day, and when I have my weaker moments, and need guidance in what I should do, I think back to this man: his example and grace.

There is another that I wish to remember this day, for he departed more recently and is badly missed by all who met his path. For the first ten years that I knew him, I would call him by his first name, but for the final five, I would call him simply Dad, because for me he felt such.

There was much that was alike between these two men who never met. They shared the same level sensibility; a down to earth view of the world. Both were hard working men, and both were successful in their fields. Both emerged from humble roots to do great things in life, and both were loved by all good people whose fortunes crossed their own.

There were differences, of course. I doubt that they would have shared a love of golf, and I am skeptical that my birth father’s opinions might have stretched as far as beliefs in Atlantean civilizations, ancient alien theories and other more fantastical beliefs. For that, I think my father-in-law might have found more common ground with my mother, who had an interest in the more mystical side of life, and from whom I inherited a similarly open mind.

That nevertheless was part of the glue that held me to this second man. We would enjoy each other’s company when talking of such things, and for that I have fond memories. I enjoyed listening to him tell long stories, in which he vividly recounted each and every long plot twist, almost scene by scene, of a movie he had watched the night before. The happiness on his face at such times was something to behold, and his descriptions almost palpable. And whenever we parted ways after a dinner or a family get together, he would always warmly shake my hand and say “it has been a pleasure”.

His final weekend was difficult for all concerned. He was not himself, and there was tension in the household. While I was present to set up a stable internet connection for his daughter’s important work the following day, I felt it best to give his immediate family the space to tend to his needs. But there was something I earnestly wished to tell him privately. The moment was not there to do so.

The morning of his passing is something that will always live with me. We were called to his bedside, and although his daughter was delayed, I was there to assist in his final hour to take the pressure off my mother-in-law. She left the bedroom for several minutes, leaving it to me to hold his hand and minister to his needs. Although unconscious through his labored breathing, I was finally able to relay my message as I wiped the foam from his mouth: “It’s OK, Dad. I will make sure they are OK. I will always be there for them.”

It is a promise that circumstances would later make impossible to keep. Yet I still hope that, in some small way, I helped carry a little of the burden during those difficult days.

The following week, I was honored to provide a reading at his memorial service, and I privately arranged for three heart pendants, which I presented to his wife and daughters on Christmas Eve. He had always told them “you will always be in my heart”. I wanted each of them to have some representation of that.

Dad, on the occasion of your birthday, I attempted some form of tribute to mark your day and the esteem in which I held you. It was a clumsy attempt at poetry. Looking back, it feels trite, too Hallmark, and perhaps may have been regarded as inauthentic, but as I finished the piece, and hit “post”, I found tears falling down my cheeks as a wave of emotion overcame me. I hurriedly left the coffee shop in which it was written, got in the car and reversed out of my space, my eyes meeting those of a woman sitting outside with friends, a look of deep compassion on her face as I left. The sentiment expressed, however clumsy, was authentic. I truly miss you.

I think each of my Dads would have been great friends. Perhaps they are not sharing a round of golf…or watching an episode of Ancient Aliens together, but I would like to think that their spirits have met.

I hope that both your love and guidance will be felt by those you have left behind. Each of you made an impact on my life, and I will never forget either of you.

Dad —

It has been a pleasure.