Joe

When we were small, my brother and I had adjacent bedrooms at the end of the hall, and there was one spot in the hallway that could be seen by both of our beds.  On special evenings, after Jay and I tucked in, Dad would settle himself there in a chair with his guitar, and he'd begin to play.  He'd start with something we all knew, like "I've Got A Lovely Bunch of Coconuts" or "Hey, Look Me Over" and the three of us - Jay and I from our beds and Dad from his chair - would sing together, our voices finding each other's in the dim light.  Dad would break into a rousing version of "Won't You Come Home, Bill Bailey" and I'd be smiling, tapping the rhythm out with every part of me, practically dancing under the sheets. We'd sing tag-lines like "right through a taxi"  and the cheeky "without her knickers" and Jay and I would giggle.  It was a musical slumber party.

And slowly, almost imperceptibly, Dad would move to the slower songs, the ones that Jay and I didn't know as well, like "Five Hundred Miles" and "If You Were The Only Girl In the World."  He'd croon the love songs from his college days and the ones I'd listen to him sing in 4-part harmony at get togethers with family friends.  Dad's voice would curl like a single ribbon of sound into our rooms. The dark never seemed so warm.  Gently, Jay and I would fall off to sleep, music weaving through our dreams.

...

A Fathers Day post has incredible pressure.  I've been fretting for the past several weeks about how I best honor my dad, Joe Douglas.

I will simply say this.

No one is more like Joe Douglas than his daughter.  No one. And I'd be willing to bet that there was no one before me in the family lineage that was as much like my father as I am.

I say this with a great amount of pride, although my father may cringe a bit.  We've laughed about it together quite a bit over the last few years. He and I both know that the qualities we value in ourselves aren't necessarily what others value.  In fact, some people think we're pains in the asses.

My father learned to live with that, and you know what?  So have I.  It's incredibly liberating.

See, Joe Douglas and I are complicated beings.  We strive to be better than we are, and we're mad at ourselves when we're not.  We're surrounded by people (wives and husbands and siblings and children) who are worlds kinder and more patient and generally way easier to love than we are, and honestly, it can blow to be compared to them.  I am Jan's daughter, Jay's sister and Mike's wife - I listen to the constant stream of professions of love and admiration for those three. People are downright disappointed if I show up to an event without one of them in tow.  I get it, and I agree, but it can get tiring.  Dad and I are never going to compare in certain arenas.  Sometimes we try; other times we say to hell with it.  We want to be patient and kind - we'd like a few rounder edges sometimes, but mostly you have to love us for being stubborn, outspoken, sticklers for structure, gruffly committed to justice... things that aren't sexy but are true. We hope you forgive us for our shortcomings, but if you don't, well, we both think... "Piss off."

I can love my dad in a way that no one in the world ever has or ever will.  As his only daughter, so much like him, my love is unique and complicated and... perfect.  It is one of the only times in my life I can say that something I do is perfect.  I don't profess to know him best, but I know Joe Douglas like no one else and I honor him for everything he is.  He is... beautiful.  He is... exceptional.  He is... ever-evolving, ever struggling, and I think that is the most honorable place to be.  He is my hero, not just for who he is, but for who he hopes to be every single day.

And that has to be enough.  It is for me, his very proud daughter.

Happy Fathers Day, Joe Douglas.