When I was a kid, my family had a swing set in our backyard. It is by far one of my favorite things from my childhood.
Two swings, a sandbox, a rock wall, and a slide was my entertainment for hours throughout the years. My sister and I would constantly play with a few kids from the neighborhood on our swing set, pretending we were pirates, princesses, or whatever other characters our minds could conjure up.
When it was just me playing outside, my father would push me on my swing and we would talk and talk. I don’t remember a lot of what we talked about; the important thing is that he was there.
Every year, my father would order bags of wood chips to refresh the floor of my swing set, pouring and spreading the material with care. Every year, I was reminded of how much my father cared for me, even if I didn’t understand it then.
My father has always had his ways of showing he cares. It used to be asking if I wanted to go outside and play basketball, if I wanted his help learning how to ride a bike, or giving me a bandage and kissing it better after I fell and scraped my knee.
Now, it’s asking if I ate lunch yet, if my car is doing OK, or if I want to come over for dinner on his day off from work.
Although my swing set is older now and is in a state of disrepair, it is still in the backyard at my father’s house. When I look at it out of the kitchen window, I remember the days I spent outside not only with my friends, but with my father, and I remember that I wouldn’t be who I am now if he wasn’t there to push me on my swing.
Although I’m older now, my father still treats me like his little girl. When I look at my pink, bedazzled key to his house that I was given in middle school, I remember that, on the inside, I am still just a girl who needs her father.
He’s seen me through bouts of laughter, crying, and screaming, as many parents do. He’s always welcomed me with open arms, whether it was when I was running to him when he picked me up from elementary school or when I bring loads of laundry to do at his house now.
Most importantly, he’s always supported me, no questions asked. He is the first person I told that I wanted to be a journalist, and he has been right behind me every step of the way since then, prepared to catch me if I fall.
There are thousands of stories I could tell that illustrate what a wonderful person my father is, but I will leave you with this.
This Father’s Day and every other day is a reminder that I have a man in my life who has shown me what it means to be kind to myself and to others and to show up for those I love most.
If it’s not your father, I hope each and every one of you has someone you can look to for inspiration and in times of need.
I know I’ll cherish my father as long as the world will let me.
To everyone out there, have a safe and happy Father’s Day. We hope it’s full of love, comfort, and dad jokes.
