As a kid, he never missed a game.  And I played sports year-round, so there were lots of games.

He made me feel like mine was “the earth and everything in it*.”  Not through amazing skill of parenting, brilliance of intellect or book learning.

 He simply showed up.  He was the guy leaning on the fence down the third base line on a hot summer’s day.  A face in the crowd on a rainy day at some leaky city gym.  A man standing in the cold on the sidelines of some Jr High gridiron two counties from home.  Brilliance in simplicity.

Along the way, I surmise, the roles got reversed.  He didn’t come to church softball games when I was 30 because he thought I needed him there, or to see great sport.  The joy he gave, became the joy he received.

Sometimes I think I am not much of a Dad, and my teenaged kids would agree.  Hopefully in time, my children will forget that.  What they remember, I hope, is that I showed up.

Let’s celebrate our Dads!

 * from Rudyard Kipling’s Poem, “If”