This Father's Day

My parents divorced when I was very, very young. Much too young to take notice. (There's an interesting story there, but let's save that for another time.) In the years since, as I've watched children deal with divorce, I've come to understand just how fortunate I was.

I never felt different than anyone else, never felt as though my situation was the least bit unusual. Never knew that anything was missing.

I've known friends — too many — for whom Father's Day is especially difficult each year, even painful, for reasons of abuse or abandonment (or both). For me, the day often comes and goes without much notice, mostly because I'm not paying attention. (This irritates my father no end.) It has become practically unavoidable for me, though, now that I've become a parent — though I'd still just as soon let it quietly pass. I never feel entirely comfortable as the center of attention.

And yet...

Tomorrow, my six-year-old will give me the beautiful picture he painted of me tinkering with his robot costume, a picture that only he could have painted. (I couldn't help but see it when I was unpacking his backpack from school.) I can't wait. I have a closer relationship with my son than I remember having with either of my parents. I wonder if he'll be better at remembering Father's Day than I am?