Father's Day: Rest

What I Really Want For Father’s Day...

This Father’s Day will be different in our house. We’re trying to tighten our belts, save money where we can, so I’m not going to blow money on World’s Best Dad titanium travel mugs or $25 dollar steaks. Although my husband would certainly appreciate a good New York Strip, he’ll be almost as happy with a nice hamburger, perhaps with a side of salt and vinegar potato chips and an ice cold Coke. He’s not that hard please. Heck, I’m not even going to shell out five bucks for a store bought card. He’ll be happiest with hand drawn train pictures and big hugs from the kids when he wakes up late on Sunday morning. 

This Father’s Day, I simply want him to rest. To feel good about sleeping in, turning off his phone, and waking up to a nice, clean garage (which the kids and I will tidy up, as his Father’s day present). Most of all, I want him to feel appreciated for holding up so much of our world, without complaint, for so many years. To sleep, to dream and to open the door to a garage he can actually walk around in without tripping on a pool noodle or bicycle pump. 

I hope our earnest efforts will help him to know exactly how much we love and appreciate him. Because that’s what Father’s Day is really about. Not spending money on micro beer brewing kits or helping the kids make origami Star Wars figurines holding signs that say, “Dad, the force is strong within you!” (Although those are good ideas, too. Maybe next year?)

 Like many men I know, my husband worries. A lot. But unlike most women I know, he doesn’t talk about what weighs him down and keeps him up at night. About the bills, his job, and whether or not we can afford to replace my car, which makes odd thumping noises whenever we climb the steep hill towards our house. He sits up nights wondering how we’re going to pay for college for our three children, and if we’ll be able to retire anytime before we’re ninety. 

While it’s true that he and I worry about some of the same things, like ensuring that our children will grow up safe and happy, it’s also true that he carries his worries differently. He holds them tightly, close to the vest, and doesn’t share the bulk of what troubles him. Instead, he works harder. Seven days a week, to be exact, while downing antacids like candy and occasionally playing Words With Friends as a stress reliever.

I, on the other hand, talk to my friends when I find myself feeling overwhelmed, write to vent my feelings, and read books to escape when the going gets tough. But he doesn’t have time to do any of that. He might take a minute to check Facebook now and then or take an hour power nap, which stems some of the chaos and pressure rolling around in his mind. But then he gets right back in the saddle- back to his phone, which rings incessantly from dawn till dusk, and back to his computer which spits out urgent emails like clockwork.

My husband and I have been married for 18 years, and as we’ve grown older, we’ve begun the frightening process of sounding a little too much like the moms and dads portrayed on sitcoms. He, exhausted from the grueling hours he puts in at work, might walk through the door, and say something like, “Can’t you turn off the lights when you leave a room? Turn the volume down on the TV! Stop yelling with all the windows open and quit leaving your toys all over the front lawn! The neighbors must think we’re insane!” 

I, like any good sitcom housewife, (Lucille Ball? Patrician Heaton from The Middle? Peg Bundy?), snap back, “You are such a jerk! Who cares if we leave a few toys out? You need to worry less about what the neighbors think and more about what we think!”

But of course, I’m wrong. He does care what we think. A lot. When he grumbles about the lights, he’s actually worried about our gargantuan electricity bill, which will soon be followed by an even bigger landslide of monthly bills he’ll have to juggle. So, when he comes home crabby, mumbling under his breath about the toys we’ve left all over the yard, it’s really because he’s been negotiating all day with people who’ve been stonewalling, rude, unreasonable or plain old mean, and home is the only place he can let off some steam without getting his head bitten off. 

He surveys the scene at the end of the day, me sitting on the couch working, the kids lolling around on the floor, bickering, asking for dinner and generally acting like three healthy puppies and wishes he could stop for a while. He'd love to sit down at five o’clock and watch Wolverine with our 14 year-old, play trains with the youngest or take our daughter out for a bowl of Pho at their favorite Vietnamese restaurant. But he can’t. There are million dollar deadlines looming. He’s gotten five voicemails just since he walked in the door and said hi to the dog. If he stops now, he’ll be swept under in a riptide only he can fully understand, one that he shoulders with stoic pride because he loves and wants to take care of his family with all his heart. That’s his real job, the one that truly matters to him. He does it all so well we never even realizes he’s doing it. So yeah, he grumbles about the lights and toys a bit. So sue him.

This Father’s Day, I want to give my husband a gift I hope he’ll receive with all the love and gratitude with which it’s given. The gift of rest, appreciation and love. The gift of understanding. It’s tough to be a father these days, to find time to spend with your family amid the many pressures inherent in being a husband, provider, protector and friend. But on the day set aside for honoring dads, I hope my husband knows that I, for one, hear his pleas to turn off the lights, turn down the TV and stop wasting so much money at the grocery store.

I hear you, honey, and I know how much you care and how hard you work. I know where your heart is, and what work you’re doing when you’re sitting at your desk those long, long hours when the rest of us are already asleep. Thank you for being such a good dad, and for working so hard for our family. You’re doing a good job, and we love you. 

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