by Brian Adiska
Most of the time Dad is just another name. We say it thousands of times without much thought to how privileged we are to call someone by that title.
On Father’s Day, we have the chance and clarify, reflect and thank that person when we may have fallen short other days in the year.
I don’t know if I can scratch the surface in a few paragraphs describing what my dad means to me. If I could write a book on my father, I might be able to paint a better picture, but it would still be incomplete. You see, there are so many good feelings and memories associated with this one.
When I was a kid going through school, Dad was my support. He never pushed me but was always there with 100% support. He never said, “No, you can’t do that,” to my ideas. Rather he always tried to figure out how to make them come to be.
When I was growing up, my mother worked, and Dad was going to school. He worked with me on many of my projects, consisting of scrap wood or cut up cardboard. Later at night he helped put us to bed and then it was time for his schoolwork to finish his day. I worked on those projects the next day and showed him my progress when he arrived home from school. Then the process would start all over again.
Dad was always there and has consistently been there to this day, from a house project to being my first call after my sons were born. And I thank him for that.
He was a provider when I was growing up under his roof. He gave me the basics in life and made me appreciate what I had, what I could have, and the gifts that are not always appreciated until later in life.
My being fortunate enough to call him Dad was one of those gifts.