I’ll never enjoy a story as much as when my Dad read Taran Wanderer. Even if I had to poke him when he fell asleep, he had voices for every character and made the adventure come alive.
I’ll never feel as safe as I did when I cuddled in my parents’ bed on a lazy Sunday morning, with sheets, warmth and comfort in every direction.
Sports will never feel as important as when my Dad took me to a triple-overtime shootout in my childhood. For our team, it was a meaningless win at the end of a mediocre season, but it kept our conference rival from playing for a championship, and I spent the entire car ride home dreaming of future potential and glory.
The three best meals I’ll ever have were, in ascending order:
The first French toast I ever made with my parents, piled with so much powdered sugar the accompanying milk tasted sour.
The catfish my Dad and I caught, cleaned, and fried.
The biscuits cooked over a campfire, devoured under the night sky.
Adulthood is no different. There is a work project that will be the best you ever completed. There is a steak that is the best you ever grilled. There is a sex that is the best you ever sex. As you age, the probability that these moments are in your future falls to zero.
Life runs downhill. It gets easier, but it also gets less exciting.
I’m celebrating Father’s Day by letting my children put extra sugar on their French Toast. If I can fill their lives with wonder, then I can hopefully become part of the tapestry of humanity rather than a loose thread.
May their stories continue with joy.
Happy Father’s Day!