The Dirt Field

Hi Dad! Happy Father’s Day!

Remember last year when you gave me a helpful suggestion for what to get you for this special day?

Once again, that did not happen. I’m sorry. Surely it’s some consolation that I left my M Coupe at your house a few months ago with strict instructions to drive it regularly. Happy Father’s Day, here’s my car to babysit? Children really are a gift that keeps on giving.

When I thought about other things I could get you, I drew a blank because you already have the one thing you wanted most over the last few decades:

I didn’t think “the more the merrier” applied to rubber chickens, so I did not get you another one. Besides, I’m pretty sure you already have one of everything else in the universe:

Instead, I made you a card and dinner (although we both know I ordered the steak from a restaurant because the only grilling that happens in my neighborhood is when the police come to question another suspect). I don’t really know a better way to thank you for being my father. There isn’t a gift or card that covers “hey, thanks for life and then teaching me to be a person and helping me solve every problem ever.” Although Starbucks keeps sending promotional emails to convince me otherwise.

So, thanks for life and so on. I couldn’t have gotten here without you. I’m also very grateful for this:

Who would ever have thought we were engaging in some early career development? Thank you for showing me the ropes and running alongside as I figured out how to not crash. I have gone on to find so much joy in cycling (while unfortunately only earning slightly more from the sport now than in that picture). I will never forget who first launched me on two wheels.

I will also never forget what you did for me recently. On the last day of Scout’s life, you were the rock for the rest of us. You held steady as my world was collapsing and helped the vet place our sweet puppy in a box so that he could be carried home and laid to rest. I wish I could erase that day from my mind forever, but in the absence of that ability, I am so grateful to at least be able to remember how you carried him out of the office and placed him gently in your car. I didn’t have the strength to handle any of his arrangements but you took Andrew to your house, got out the shovels and the whiskey despite the rain, and laid my dog to rest. You gave me the comfort of knowing that he was at peace when everything he left behind was so crushed and broken.

You have always stepped in to help me through the worst of my life’s moments. There isn’t a chicken or dinner or car enough to thank you for that. Thank you for being my father and for making sure that when I crash, I always land on something soft and safe.

🍣