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.
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