Many believe the initiation to fatherhood is the first time a baby projectile poops on them.
The true initiation to fatherhood is the first time a daddy reaches down to pick up his little one only to place them firmly on their shoulders.
My dad – like all dads, is a super hero genius.
No really, he is.
When I was little, he would place me on his shoulders, holding on to my feet, so that I could have a higher view of the world. While we would walk around endlessly, he would sing renditions of 80’s songs at the top of his lungs – leaving me in a pile of giggles.
You see, my father is a scientist.
A true scientist with a lab, and everything.
He speaks in logic and numbers. It’s what makes him an iridescent success at his passion. While growing up, he never wanted to colour with me, he never wanted to help me brush my barbies’ hair or bake. He simply didn’t care for it. He figured that’s why my sister was for.
Instead he loved to play math games with me, there was nothing more fun then tackling a word problem with him. Those games are what made me the obnoxious mental math diva I am today.
No really, there was a point in time when I’m sure my algebra teacher wanted to punch me in the face for always yelling out answers before she finished asking the question.
Music rarely played in the house, unless of course I was on the piano – and even then, our home was silent. Week days were reserved for reading and studying. I would return home from school at 3:30 waiting in dire anticipation till my daddy would return from work. He would stride through the door with a certain twinkle in his eye. He would secretly place ice cream bars he got for my sister and I in the freezer – and I would stealthily watch from an ajar kitchen door.
That is all he would buy. Nothing else.
After dinner he would watch from the couch as I would tip-toe to the kitchen and grab two. my mother could never know.
Weekends, were a different story.
He would casually tell my mom that he was taking me to his office so I could have peace and quiet while I studied.
My mom, the avid academic would almost always agree.
I would strap myself into his car – and to my surprise, the first thing he would do was turn on the radio.
Had I never went with him to work over the weekends, I would have never known how much he loves country music.
His obsession is Dolly Parton.
It’s weird and gross – but hey – she makes him happy.
We would get to his office and he would transform – from a passive, peace loving, tired father of three, to a super genius scientist.
He would eagerly usher me to his lab and perform magic shows of chemical reactions – it was incredible. His eyes would light up as he would explain polymers, and my eyes would sparkle when I found his hidden stash of Snickers bars.
He would let me play on the white board in his office while he sang tunes and edited papers for publishing.
Years passed, and his little girl slowly grew up to be a bitchy teen and then grew up some more to become a mother herself.
It’s true what they say – when you’re a parent you attain a new found respect for those who raised you.
My dad, like your dad, is a super hero genius.
He’s the music in my life and will eternally be one of the most inspiring people I’ve ever known.
I will always remember those rides on your shoulders, all those ice cream bars you got me, and how you light up when you talk about something you love.
I love you daddy.
Happy Father’s Day.
Sweet Dreams World.