That Time Thing Again

My Daughter came over this morning because she had a dream I died. (This just in––I didn't).

Kaity was so upset that she had to see me. It happened in the morning––her dream, not my death––and it was so vivid and fresh in her mind she wanted to hug and kiss me and tell me how much she loved me. Kaity is my only Daughter. And for those of you who are Daddy's Little Girl or have a little girl, you know that special bond between a Dad and Daughter. Well, it's that way with Kaity & me. She was going to quit college and stay home and take care of me along with her Mother when I had cancer and was going through hell, I mean the treatments.

I've been fortunate to spend a lot of time with Kaity, whether it be through sports or school or school sports. We also talk about her job and how much we both live what we do for a living. I think they call it passion. She has an over-abundance of it, just like her Dad. We both get caught up in the thought and action of making a difference. And lose track of time. I've been doing that again. Working myself to death. Can't seem to bring myself to say "no". Want to create the next best thing, whatever that may be. It used to be I dreaded having to go to work after my cancer battle, having to survive a hostile work environment that featured way too many immature and selfish people.

Now, I have my creative soul back. I have an environment that is focused on positive energy, working hard and playing hard. I have people to work with that I respect and respect me back. Of course, there will always be bumps in the road. And life has a way of slapping you in the face or giving you a wet willie to help you put things in perspective. Our time is so precious, I know that I get caught up in the things that are really not that important. I forget that I still have dreams I have to chase.

While I'm still alive.

Dads

Sometimes I think Dads don't get enough credit. (Yeah, I'm a Dad).

But that doesn't make me a deadbeat. An absentee. A weekend Dad. All not very nice, but well publicized. It makes good headlines, I guess. And there's a difference between being a Dad and being a Father. Anyone can be a Father. Not everyone is a Dad.

I listened to a friend today talk about his Dad. In front of a packed house. He talked about the one theme that keeps popping up in my blog. Time. The one thing we can't get enough of. That we can't change––OK, daylight savings excluded––no matter how many things we do to our body. He talked about spending time with his Dad. He talked about the time he's going to miss. He talked about a good Dad. He was probably a great Dad.

I think we sometimes forget Dads are human. Just like Moms. I've always believed that you're really an adult when you realize your parents are human. They make mistakes. They don't know everything. They have fun. (I'll leave it at that. I can hear Kaity ringing the therapy cash register). And we Dads do screw up all the time. We don't have an instruction book. Not that we would read it, anyway. So we're making most of this shit up as we go along. Then we learn what works and doesn't work and go from there. Some scary stuff, huh?

But that's OK. Because we Dads come in all sizes, colors, shapes, price ranges and geographic regions. And we are tough. My Dad has had more close encounters of the death kind than any human should have. From heart attacks to cancer. So every time I talk to him, I want to make sure it's a good one. Good Dads are hard to come by.

So they say.