Growing up, my father was a stay-at-home dad. When I got sick at school, the school secretary would ask me for my mother’s phone number, and I wouldn’t know it, because it was Dad we were supposed to call to pick us up.
Dad would bake six to 12 loaves of bread a week to feed my three brothers and me, a task that would later become my own.
Chore distribution, conflict resolution, and hauling us to the hospital when someone inevitably needed stitches (more than once one brother knocked out another brother’s tooth) were Dad’s job.
Dad’s also my sentimental parent. He’s got shelves of neatly compiled photo albums and carefully labelled picture folders on his computer, and still has boxes with cross-country skiing participation medals from when I was six.
Dad’s since gone into the civil service, and I’ve gained both a stepfather and a stepmother. Each came into my life at formative points (one as I was entering teenagerhood, the other as I was entering adulthood), and offered new takes on parenting and mentorship, which were both sources of conflict and growth.
Father’s Day and Mother’s Day at home are a jumble of broken stereotypes and complicated relationships. We, like many nowadays, just don’t fit the nuclear family mould.
All this to say, give flowers, a steak, a beer, to who you want to this Sunday – be it a dad, a stepdad, a mom, a friend, the local reporter, or your dog. Celebrate your family.
