A Letter to the Rest of Us: A Different Kind of Father’s Day Celebration

Dear kid,

I know this is a hard day for you. It’s hard because everyone in the known solar system is throwing a party for their dad, and you’re not.

It’s difficult, because everyone’s family is posting happy pictures of themselves online, but yours isn’t. Difficult, because at every little church, in every region, all over this country, small-town preachers, priests, pastors, and parishioners are honoring fathers publicly. At which point services conclude and everyone tries to beat the Methodists to the Mexican restaurant.

For this reason you’ve grown to dislike this holiday. You feel a dull pain on this calendar date, and you’d rather forget the occasion even exists.

But I want to remind you that today is actually a beautiful day. Believe me. Even though it doesn’t feel that way to you now, take my word for it. Today is magical because dadhood itself is magical.

Fatherhood, in all its various forms, be it successful or screwed-up, heroic or tragic, wonderful or painful, is magnificent. Because being a dad means you helped create new life.

Life.

Think of that. Have YOU ever created anything that incredible? When I was your age, the coolest thing I’d ever actually created was a papier-mâché castle with a moat made of cellophane, and the role of King Arthur played by Stretch Armstrong.

But your dad helped create actual biological life. Years ago, during a moment of pure love, your dad and your mom brought life into this world. Your life. Your beautiful, rich, vibrant, amazing life. Your dad had a part in that.

Yes, I’m aware that you probably don’t feel like your life is rich and vibrant and beautiful right now. I get that. But that’s the grand illusion of life itself. But someday you’ll unsee the illusion. Someday, you’ll see life for what it is. One huge, wonderful, continuous, ongoing moment of love. From birth to death. Love.

Look around you at all the life that is happening right now. Look at the trees. Everything they are doing right now is an expression of love. Love makes them grow. Love moves them gently in the breeze. Love makes them flower with all their hearts, which probably feels so good for them. Love sends their pollen to the wind. Love, love, love.

Consider the birds of the air. They move through the sky, arms outstretched, singing. They can’t NOT sing. Because life makes them do this. It’s in their nature. Life enjoying life.

Now, think of all the things, just like birds, that YOU can’t help but do. Each beat of your heart. Each electrical pulse of your nervous system. Each image your retina sees, then your brain translates as beauty. You were born into this vast quiltwork of biological majesty and harmony not just to enjoy it, but to be an important part of it. And this all happened because of your dad.

Like it or not, it was your dad who opened the door for you to be here. Your dad had a rare opportunity—whether he knew it or not—to be a main character in your life story. And he accepted the challenge. I’m sorry he ended his own life before the game was over.

So, despite whatever mistakes he made, despite all the hard times he put you through, regardless of the repercussions of his poor decisions, remember his love brought you here. Real love.

Because that’s all fatherhood is, really. Love.

This holiday is not about special cakes, big parties, or cheesy greeting cards manufactured by the Hallmark Corporation with trite phrases printed inside that read: “Happy Father’s Day! I love you more than you love your lawn!”

Today is not about perfect social media pictures of happy families all wearing matching seersucker daywear. It’s not about ordering fried ice cream after dad finishes a chimichanga that will wreck his lower intestines for six months. Today is solely about love.

The spark of love that made you. That same love that keeps you alive. Hold this flickering love in your heart. Dwell upon it. Let it grow. This love is your treasure. This love is your birthright.

Celebrate this holiday by celebrating that love. And while you’re at it, celebrate yourself for being so beautiful. Celebrate this world for being so magnificent, albeit confusing. Celebrate the birds, the trees, and above all, Stretch Armstrong.

Then, when you’re finished with all that, take a moment to celebrate your dad. Your flawed, imperfect, gullible dad.

Celebrate all the bad choices he made that were somehow used for good. Celebrate the pure love this poor man never allowed himself to feel.

Cry if you must. Feel a little sorry for yourself if you need. But don’t stay here. Sniff your snot. Wipe your tears. And look up into the awesome heavens to celebrate the beautiful and omnipresent love that created them. Because that’s your real dad.

With love,

—Future You