I won the Dad jackpot

My dad retired when I was in grade three. It was different, especially in the ‘90s, for the dad to be the stay-at-home parent. But I am so grateful my parents were in a position for him to be able to do that. His constant presence in my day-to-day life benefited me greatly. He would drive me to school each morning, pick me up for lunch, and return to school at the end of the day to take me home. He coached my soccer team for years, we played pool or air hockey in the basement most nights before bedtime, and as a family, we went to the mountains on the weekends year after year for close to 50% of the skiing season. He has always been a constant in every area of my life, and I admittedly (and ashamedly) take him for granted a lot.

Despite all the bonding we’ve done throughout our lives, our relationship remains largely surface-level. We aren’t particularly close on an emotional level. He keeps things close to his chest while I wear my heart on my sleeve. We are just different in that way, and that’s okay. We are so close in many other ways—I never question his love for me. He is kind, loving, funny, compassionate, and goes out of his way to help people simply because it is the right and human thing to do.

Over the last two weeks, I have needed to rely on those who love me. I have needed to feel their love for me because I have been unable to feel it for myself. We all go through it: Sometimes life sucks, it can be challenging, and every task, no matter how small, feels like climbing Mount Everest without a map. In these moments, when everything feels impossible, it’s hard not to compare your journey to those who seemingly float through life with ease.

Two days ago, I walked into the living room of my childhood home and sat in the recliner. My dad was sitting in the other one. He usually begins our conversations with a joke or an interesting news story. But this time, he started with, “How are you feeling today? How is your mood?” Tears immediately glazed over my eyes. Not because I was sad but because I felt so very seen. And loved. The concern in his tone was palpable. “I feel good,” I replied. That was the end of the conversation, but if I had wanted it to go on longer, he would have been more than willing to listen and coach me through my feelings.

This morning I called my dad for advice. After we both said hello, he immediately asked how I felt. It’s such a simple and common question that everyone asks each other whenever they see one another. It is not a special or unique question. But coming from my dad, it holds meaning. It carries weight. It isn’t a platitude or a nicety to get out of the way so we can move on to another topic. He truly wants to know how I am feeling. What a guy.

He means the world to me.