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Thursday, June 24, 2010

HNT - Daddy's Little Helper

This past Sunday was Father's Day.

Now don't you just love uselessly obvious statements like that? NEWSFLASH: the third Sunday in June was Father's Day this year. Just like it has been for about 100 years in the majority of countries in the world that celebrate it. Yeesh, Mark, tell me something I don't know already.

Okay, I'll stop making fun of myself in a self-editorializing way.

What I meant to say was this past Sunday I got some wonderful gifts from my son (including this hand-designed shirt he made for me at the daycare where he spends some of his non-kindergarten days). Making me go back to bed (I'm usually the first one in our home to rise in the mornings), he was delighted to rush into the bedroom with a handful of all of the great gifts he made for me.  The best gift of all, of course, was the look of sheer joy in his eyes when I was opening my presents.

I commented on this back on Sunday, but I'll say it again, because it bears repeating. For me, every day IS Father's Day. Not a single day goes by in which I don't feel loved, celebrated and appreciated as a husband and a father.

And the more time that passes, the more I realize that the gift of fatherhood is one I'll never be able to properly repay. I look back at all the things that my Dad was to me, all the things he gave me, all the love he consistently showered upon me, all the things he taught me, and I feel spoiled and privledged. Then, in a feeble attempt to give all those same things to my son, perhaps to try to pay those things forward, I realize that nomatter how much I attempt to give to my son the way my dad gave to me, I'm never quite able to give as much as I receive.

Each day, my son gives me an infinite amount of love, wonder and joy. Each day, I'm enriched by his spirit, kindness, generosity and creativity. Each day, I'm further in debt realizing I'll never be able to give him as much as he gives me.

Each day I count my blessings as one very lucky man.

My shirt says "Daddy's Little Helper" as if to imply that because he follows me around and helps me get chores around the house and yard done (which he HAS done since before he could even walk). But he's really "Daddy's Little Helper" because he helps me feel special, helps me feel loved and helps me become a better person in more ways than he'll ever know or I'll ever be able to properly express.





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