I Don't Need Father's Day To See You

I have a good man and maybe I don’t talk about that enough. Father’s Day is usually that time of the year when we all go online to profess our undying affections for the men in our lives. You wake up, pop open your favorite browser (I hope it’s Chrome), and begin to see one picture after the other of men who are the “best dads EVER.”

And I don’t doubt that they are. Good men can be found everywhere. As cynical as I am, I do believe this. I see them everywhere I look and I acknowledge them when I do. I look at my friends and I am happy for them and their children.

I’m happy for my children, too, because I have a good man.

Sure, he chews too loudly. He wears socks with holes in them. He gets too crazy about the news. He gets a little aggressive when he drives. But if those are the worst things about my good man, then I think I’m doing alright.

When we first got married, I couldn’t stand my good man. I was too self-centered. I was too young. I was too concerned about which side of the sink the toothbrushes were “supposed” to be placed.

I was too bent on being right way too often. My eyes were out of focus in my 20s. I don’t know what I was looking at? I really don’t?

I think back at those first few years and I recognize that I was rushing through them. I just wanted children. I just wanted to move. I just wanted a new career. I just wanted… I just wanted … I just wanted…

I didn’t have time to recognize all those great moments I was missing with my good man.

But now, 17 years later, I’m settled. I’m tired. I’m content. I’m blessed. I’m worn. I’m happy. I’ve arrived. I’ve ended my lap. I’ve gotten to where I want to be.

There are no more major goals to hit. There are no more babies to make. There are no more houses to build. There are no more countries to visit. Ahhh – just kidding about that last one. All I can do is sit by my good man and see him for who he is.

I’m not rushing / racing / fighting / scraping. I’m just playing sudoku and looking at our teen daughter, our tween son, our baby boy. I’m just talking about Iceland and joking with him that he’s never going to take me there.

But I’m not angry anymore. It’s more playful than anything else. The aurora lights will always be there. So will he. I know this.

My good man.

And so, on Father’s Day, I posted my Facebook status, begrudgingly, because I don’t like to do things that are expected of me. But I did it anyway because my good man deserved it.

He deserves that status every day. Not just yesterday. But I can’t write what I really want to write because that story is my story and it’s not for Facebook.

It’s not for a like or a heart or a share. It’s ours. He knows what he is to me. He knows what he means to me. He knows what he stands in for me. He knows. I don’t need anybody else to know.

I share many things but some things are just left for us. And some things are too painful to share. So, I hold onto them with all my might until they crack me inside and only my good man can fix me whole and warm me back to life.

Old wounds resurface like the full moon like clockwork and time stands still until silence is all I hear. But my good man knows how to make me dance again. Over and over and over again. He sees me – every shade of grey. And he still loves me – completely.

So, yes. He gets a Facebook status update because that’s what I am supposed to do. He gets an Instagram update because that’s what I am supposed to do. But he also gets my whole heart, my whole soul, and all of my life because that’s what my good man deserves.

You are the air I breathe.