Mother’s Day from my Dad

My dad called yesterday for Mother’s Day.  He calls every year to say hello and check in.  At first, when I was younger, I hated that he never remembered my birthday or Christmas – but he always called on mother’s day and his reason was that “You have the potential to be a mother.  You have the goddess, the female divinity in you. You act as mother to a lot of people and are always ready to help the mothering of those children around you.”

For a long time I thought he was trying to remind me that I wasn’t getting any younger, or that by saying I have the potential to be a mother – what he really meant was “Get to it already.  Why don’t you have kids yet?”

But over the years, I’ve come to understand a couple of things.  Firstly, he can’t possibly be expected to remember the birthdays of so many freaking children, he barely remembers our names, much less when we were born. So I think it’s his one day a year when he rolls birthday, Christmas and any other holiday into one phone call for all his girls, whether we’re mothers or not.  I believe he also calls my brothers on father’s day.

Secondly, what I realized yesterday much to my utter amazement – he really genuinely thinks his daughters are miniature goddess vessels. Wow! I don’t think I ever understood that about him.  

I suddenly adored my father a thousand times more yesterday than the day before.  It wasn’t just another call for Mother’s Day.  It was a charming discussion with my dad, who is so dear to me, and learning a little bit more about the man who gave me all the other half of my double X.  I got his lips and bones and ears and sense of justice.  I have no idea where I got my sarcasm from since both of my parents seem to be completely lacking a sense of humor.  I got dad’s love of photography and his joy of chatting and being social.

From my mother I got eyes, nose and freckles.  I got her pale skin and need for travel.  I got her gypsy spirit and dislike of being ordered around.  I suppose at some point I should also thank her for passing on her craving for adventure, which sometimes feels like as much of a curse as it does a blessing.

So, I hung up last night thinking – maybe dad has a weird way of showing his love sometimes, but his Mother’s Day tradition has become a phone call I always look forward to getting.