Three Cheers For Dad
Here in the last few hours before my husband wakes up I am scheming a way to make his morning a bit more special than usual.
Today is father’s day and judging by the skies it looks like that hike in the Columbia Gorge that his son was planning is going to have to be postponed. What to do now? …
I’m hoping he sleeps in today so I have time to get breakfast ready. Homemade biscuits with butter and honey. Mmmm, I’m hungry just thinking about it. I’ll get up here any minute and do just that but first I want to say happy father’s day to all you guys out there that help out at home and with the kids, who mend the fences and put out the fires. The dads who wear a uniform to work and they’re on duty day and night. That cop that just passed you has two little girls at home and that soldier in Kabul just got news that he has a son, born only yesterday. There is a neighbor of yours whose daughter is yet to be born and he watches this day pass and gets a little nervous thinking of next year, yet smiles at the thought.
Dads aren’t perfect, they say the wrong things and act all silly when they should probably be serious, but it’s not about what they do wrong – it’s about what they do right. Dads take time to listen, to teach you how to tie your shoes, to tell a story or stand by you when you’re in a bind. There are no substitutes for the role and you don’t have to be the parent of a child to be a dad. We call them stepfathers; they step in for a missing dad. Not meant to be a replacement, a step father must be a bit daunted by his task. After all most parents have about nine months to get used to the idea before parenting is upon them.
This father’s day I remember mine of course. Raymond Thomas Ryan, born after St. Patrick’s day, 1909 and died just before Thanksgiving in 1982. He had four sons and one daughter. He married my mother, built a house, raised his family and died of lung cancer, nine days after his 50 wedding anniversary. He was a truly good man who was terrified of not being worthy in the sight of his God but in my eyes he was a compass of both bravery and honor. He inspired me and fired my curiosity like no one else ever has. We’d sit at the kitchen table after dinner and plot out our (imaginary) trip across the United States on a map that covered half of the table. I got so excited thinking about the adventure and it fueled my imagination. It also gave me an uncanny sense of direction and that has been a valuable trait to have, thanks dad!
Happy Father’s Day
©Kathleen Ryan-McCullough
~ About Me ~
About Me?…hmm, always a tough place to start. I hate to be boxed in, labeled and pegged. I am more than my age, marital status, occupation or religion. I have unique qualities that can’t be summed up in tiny phrases. I am more than a collection of blurbs – I continue to be work in progress.
I’ve always been impatient, stubborn and above average in charm, smarts and sarcasm. I have not left some misspent youth behind me that I need recovery from; in fact, I hope I never recover. My mother believed that you are only as old as you feel. That being said, there are days I feel like having the temper tantrum of a 4 year-old and the next day I feel the better part of a century dragging behind me.
Getting Personal:
I am of Irish and Swiss decent, although I recently discovered the Swiss connection. I have been married twice, fortunately the second time took. I have 4 adult children, 4 cats who are all sisters and one supremely beautiful 5 year-old German Shepherd. I live on an island in the middle of the Columbia River.
Life here on Hayden Island can be quite noisy. We are in the glide-path for Portland Int. Airport, so planes, including F-15 fighter jets from the 142nd Fighter Wing of the Oregon Air National Guard take off and land day and night. The mighty Columbia River is 150 yards to my north and conveys all types river traffic, so fog horns are common. The Interstate 5 bridge is one of two bridges that cross the island. The other is a railroad bridge. Both are modified to open for boats and both bring their own unique noise. The interstate bridge carries over 140,000 vehicles every day and the railroad bridge sees about a dozen trains, including two crossings by Amtrak. All of these lead to a cacophony of noise that eventually fades into the background on any given day.
Not all the noises are man-made, in fact some of the most beautiful and haunting sounds I’ve ever heard have come from the many birds who nest here year round. There is also a protected area of wetlands just south of the island that are home to many thousands of birds. Canadian Geese flock in such numbers their honking can even be heard over the train whistles. One of my very favorite birds, the Osprey, nest right off shore atop the old pylons. Each morning during the spring and early summer I listen to their piercing calls as they hunt and teach their young to fly.
It is busy island, full of life’s hustle and bustle; so if it’s quiet you want, this probably isn’t the place. Having lived here 17 years, I have to say that I am quite content to call this piece of earth, my home.
I have spent months dithering about what I would blog. After several false starts and repeated bouts of angst, I’ve decided to simply write about whatever comes my way. Writing has always been healthy and productive outlet for me and now, in our digital world I can publish without worrying about pleasing some editor. Don’t get me wrong, I do hope that what I produce is worth reading and that it has value beyond just me.
While you’re here, if you should feel the need to leave a comment, be my guest. In turn if you have nothing to say then feel free to say nothing. Thanks, I’m hoping that you enjoy what you find here and that you will stop by again soon.
…That’s ~About Me~ for now!
Wading Barefoot 