It’s my dad’s birthday today.  He’s 79.   We took dinner over to his place tonight.  He and mum were as delighted to see us as they always are.  Dad stood at the door as we walked up the driveway and welcomed us in as he always does.  I’ve long felt grateful for dad, for all sorts of reasons.  And I felt it again today.

I had lunch with a friend last week.  He’s a decent bloke, but carries stuff on his shoulders ... heavy stuff ... regrets that weigh him down.  His dad left him when he was in primary school, and didn’t turn up again until my friend was nearly 20.  And then just briefly.  Most painfully, it’s his dad’s failure to show up at times when he had promised to be there--significant occasions and others less so--that has left the deepest scars. 

I have a son.  I don’t feel like a great success as a father ... not often anyway.  There are too many things I fail to do, and so many others I could do better.  But as I think about my friend’s story, and I picture my dad standing at the front door, I reckon good fathering has a lot to do with just showing up.  Routinely, consistently being there.

The truth is, the power of showing up doesn’t really get noticed until someone fails to do it.  As long as it happens, it gets taken for granted.  It’s not very glamorous, showing up.  No father-of-the-year awards for that one.  But its formative power is nothing less than extraordinary.

Thanks Dad, and happy birthday.