Why'd It Take Me So Long To See?

We all change as we get older. Yet we all have core values and personality traits that define us from early in life.

My dad is a good man. One of the best I ever met. And he’s always been that way. That hasn’t changed, and it never will.

Obviously, I have no first-hand knowledge of who he was as a kid. Just stories he and my mom tell. I tend to believe he was the life of the party—not only because those stories are pretty funny, but because he was voted class vice president. Believe me, it had nothing to do with his “political” ambitions. He got that title purely on popularity.

Mom was the quiet one in school. Dad most assuredly wasn’t.

I don’t know when that changed. But by the time I was born, their personalities had kind of flipped. At family parties, my mother would be chatting with her sister and mother, and my dad just kind of hung out with the men. There was more grilling and sports-watching than there was talking among the guys.

So, I grew up thinking my dad was quiet and reserved. Don’t get me wrong, he was always good-natured and quick with a joke. (Almost exclusively horrible jokes, but they amused him, which made us laugh.) But I mostly saw him as the strong-but-silent type. By the time he got home from work, I had very little time with him before bed, and my mother did all the talking.

What I now realize is she needed to vent about her day with the hellions—er, kids—and he needed to put his workday behind him. That’s probably one of the many reasons they’re such a good match for each other. They balance each other out. Always have.

I learned what a good marriage looks like from them. And I tried to pattern mine after theirs.

The day I got married, I was perfectly calm. I was getting exactly what (who) I wanted, and I couldn’t wait to start my new life with my husband. The flowers came in wrong, the cars were late, and my hair was an unmitigated disaster. But none of it fazed me. My mom kept waiting for me to have a meltdown, but I was steady. Totally unaffected by any and every problem.

As Dad and I stood in the back of the church, waiting for them to open the doors for us to walk down the aisle, I was all smiles. I could see my groom waiting for me, and I couldn’t wait to join him at the altar. Couldn’t wait to join him in life.

Then I heard a sniffle.

I looked at my father. He was misty-eyed. I’d only ever seen him tear up at a funeral, and then it was when he thought he was alone. What was happening?

My strong, silent father was losing his composure. In public. Because of me.

I clutched his arm desperately. He held me up as I cried the whole way down the aisle.

Not because I was sad or having second thoughts. It was just that I finally realized it was the end of an era. I wasn’t going to be his little girl anymore. Dad was, in more than one manner, giving me away.

After twenty-four years of marriage, during which I tried to follow my parents’ example, my husband called it quits. It was a total surprise to me. I suppose I should have seen the signs. But when you trust someone completely, you believe their lies and make excuses for their odd behavior.

It was a moment of complete devastation and weakness on my part. So, of course, I ran home.

Dad met me at the airport.

Someone needed to pick up the pieces of my shattered life, and of course I expected my dad to do it.

And, of course, he did.

Not me. Not my mom. My dad. My strong, silent father who “gave me away” to a man who vowed to take care of me forever and broke that promise in the most disgusting and vile way possible. And just like he had in the back of the church twenty-four years earlier, it was my dad who offered his arm and held me up when I most needed support.

My dad, who was once again misty-eyed. In public. Because of me.

I could give you my father’s dossier—high school graduate, U.S. Navy veteran, devoted family man, good Catholic. He’s early for everything, good-spirited to a fault, clumsy, a bad joke-teller, a worse movie-chooser. This is a man who teaches by example. A man who’s always willing to listen, always happy to help, always has a ready smile or a shoulder to cry on.

But that only tells you what he is. It doesn’t tell you who he is.

I never learned who he truly was until I was finally on my own, no longer under his roof or my husband’s. That’s when I realized Dad never gave me away. He never gives away anyone he loves. He never gives up, never gives in. He’s solid, steady, strong.

My dad is many things. And he’s my hero.