to the dads who fill the missing gaps  

this goes out to all the dads (and mayhaps daddys 💅).

Father’s Day comes with funky feelings for me.

I grew up a daddy’s gal, and life threw a fastball when my dad had his stroke when I was about 7; it shuffled a lot around for my family, fast. As a kid who had ambitious WNBA dreams, coming to terms with the fact that my dad – now disabled for the rest of his life – wouldn’t be around to drive me to games or rebound my shots, had me, admittedly, sad. Though I found ways to cast a shadow over that sadness to disguise it.

I wish my dad got to see more of the world. That said, I’m definitely just grateful he’s still around, even though he’s spent more quality time with doctors than almost anyone should, to the point it almost makes me envy them.

Over the years, the lens through which I see my parents has blurred a bit; perhaps to suppress some of that sadness, but more so to lean into the dad love that actually still shows up in my life, even in seemingly trivial ways.

First and foremost, my own dad: he’ll call me 14 times in a row because he already knows that by the 15th, I’ll finally cave. He’s a man of few words and few needs, so showing up at the nursing home to sneak him some cereal and simply sit by his side is enough.

I’ve also found myself redirecting a lot of the more complex emotions into my friends’ dads.

First, one who I won’t call out by name, but rhymes with neat (& I imagine is a pretty neat guy), diligently reads my blog. I think he’s become my biggest fan and, subsequently, I’ve become his. He lives in Vegas, and I hope he gambles a time or two out there because he deserves all the good karma that he, unbeknownst to him, exudes from afar. It makes me feel lucky, both knowing my friend was raised with love and that she has a dad who cares enough to know who she’s hanging out with.

Then there’s another friend’s dad, who once again, I won’t call by name, but happens to rhyme with hat 🧢 (& suddenly it’s hitting me that I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen him wear one). He never misses my birthday or any of the made-up celebrations that pop up annually. And I know he so patiently puts up with the antics of his daughter, who turned out to be my bloggin’ bestie, and someone who has probably taken more shots of peanut sauce than any liquor in her lifetime. I’m sure he’s proud that he raised a woman that prefers peanut sauce over poison. 

There are more small, sprinkled examples of dad energy that make me smile. One of my coworkers became a dad within the last year, and I don’t even know if he realizes his heart radiated that role long before then; he’s always felt like a safe sounding board, and I feel incredibly lucky that I get to see him five days a week, knowing both our team and his daughter are in the best of hands.

There are dads I watch on TikTok who speak to their kids exactly as they would another grown-up, educating them on the history of Pride Month before they can even speak or understand a single sentence. Or that time I met a dad on the bus after having a wholesome hang with his 5-year-old daughter as we rode; she introduced me to all her favorite cartoons and carefully selected the one she thought would resonate most with me based on the little she’d gathered during our short ride.

I think that’s the thing I’ve grown to appreciate most: noticing all the different ways dads quietly show up in the world.

Another time, one of my bestie’s dads had us over for a pool party, and I heard him speak so earnestly about my friend, who grew up to become the man who, in retrospect, may have been shaped, in some ways, by the one who raised him. Now, I’ll get to watch that same bestie – who I won’t call by name, but happens to rhyme with race – become a dad himself. And I already know that’s when the intersection of friendship and fatherhood will matter most to witness.

… because sometimes, the best dads are the ones who fill the missing gaps. They expand your understanding that dads are so much more than what Webster’s dictionary may define them as, and that the title of Dad matters, especially when it makes a difference to kids beyond their own.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there! 💚