Fathering

All my male friends had one and most of us are one. Not only have we fathered our children but consider all the fathering we've done in our time as we shepherd others along in this long distance run with our stumbling, bumbling wisdom. Parenting is that unrehearsed piece of theatre called life fraught with missteps, forgotten lines and audience grumbles but also some rave reviews.

Like it or not we are half the team of unprepared sculptors who shape the clay even as we are shaping ourselves. Who knew the clay was so soft and our mark so indelible.

Now here I am being nurtured by my youngest daughter in a huge role reversal. Janice looks after me checking to see if I am still vertical and making sure I haven't lost my marbles. She is deaf and I marvel how she orchestrates her world, her hands gracefully in flight.

Now in my ninth inning I am blessed to witness daughter Shari painting her vast inscape as landscape employing the encaustic artform. At the same time Lauren is writing her memoir with a verve and vision tracing her singular journey. Both have windows into their inner lives.

Inept as I am at hunting or fishing with no natural affinity for pipes or power tools, I sympathize with my daughters looking for a Father's Day card that fits. They've done very well over the years finding open books, trees and possibly a baseball. More important than any image are their messages. I have much to learn from each of them.

Note to my daughters: If I've seemed judgmental, protective and a voice of caution just know that it comes with the job description. When I live vicariously through you from time to time that's also part of the package. I love you all and love how you have extended my fingerprints beyond my imagining. Just know that your clay is still soft; we are all evolving.