It was in the wee hours of the morning that I realized soon Father's Day would be here. Some call him father, some call him dad. Some children are graced with good ones and some not so much. I could hear my hubby snoring next to me and I was thankful and grateful that our two, now-grown children, had, had this good man as their father. He was the kind of dad that was stern when he needed to be and gentle when it was called for, too.
My children were lucky to have had such a loving dad. I was not. My dad's memory does not bring joy or pleasure, just a lot of old pain. I know people make choices yet even as a kid I could see that he had made many wrong ones. He was a strict disciplinarian, and that was OK, but when the drink became too much it turned from discipline to abuse. I try and forget.
That brings me to now when I see my husband who is not only a dad to our children, but is also a grandfather. I see him guide, console and share, or give his strength, to both myself and our children, and their children, too. I count my blessings for him and he is right there in the top of all those blessings where he justly belongs.
No matter what kind of father you were given,
