Dear Dad,
You taught me to measure twice, but to cut only once and, though you never said it, I understood that you meant both literally and figuratively.
Yesterday was Father’s Day; sorry we couldn’t make it up for the cookout. I thought writing you a letter might assuage a bit of the guilt I’m feeling over my absence, so here it goes. As it’s unlikely that I’ll ever send this, I’m going to try to run deep here.
I sometimes wish I could talk to you like I can to mom. You know, casually about anything or just nothing. But that’s not how it works with us, is it? It’s not the way you are and it’s not the way you “made” me. I don’t mean for that to sound like an indictment of my upbringing; it’s not…not at all. Actually, my childhood was amazing! Thank-you! It’s just that, well, affection has never been your thing and I have to admit it’s sometimes a struggle for me as well. I know that you know I talk to mom on the phone almost every day. Does it ever bother you that I only call you when I need advice? It bothers me, since I’m speaking honestly.
Thank you for everything you taught me. So much! You taught me how to build things, how to take them apart, how to figure out what’s going on in the places the engineers don’t want us to see. (It doesn’t work for the heart, sadly.) You taught me that making something with your hands is the best way to pass the time. You taught me to put some good will in the bank. You never know when you might need it back. You taught me to measure twice, but to cut only once and, though you never said it, I understood that you meant both literally and figuratively. You taught me how to nod to acknowledge someone or to show gratitude.
As I’ve gotten older, there have been times (more of them lately) when I’ve wanted to just wrap you in a big hug and say, “I love you, Dad,” or, maybe just, “Thanks.” Do you know, I’m almost fifty and I have no idea how you’d respond to that? That bothers me too.
I practice on my own kiddos, especially Mikey. I don’t want him to have to wonder when he’s older about public displays of affection and where I stand and all that. I think he’s got it, but I see echoes of us in him, three versions of the same project, improving with each iteration.
So to wrap this up, I know you love me. You know I love you. We just never say it and, as I’ve said, it bothers me. I hope you had a Happy Father’s Day and I hope that next year we’re able to make it up there. I’ll work the grill, turning the ribs and asking your thoughts on how hot the burners should stay, pretending I don’t already have my own thoughts on the matter.
Mike