Father's Day

I was tempted to just copy/paste Sylvia Plath's famous poem in the style of my Memorial Day post but didn't want to add the necessary trigger warning for those who had nice dads that made an effort.

Which judging from social media is everybody...but enough about the genius of Alice Miller!  =P

For my part I'm dedicated to not turning Fuss into a poet, or at least to not fueling his art. 

Which isn't that hard a job, or at least not appreciably harder than the alternative- the dirty secret of shitty parents is they worked just as hard doing a crummy job as they would have doing a good one. 

It brings to mind a quote that went something like "making a bad film is just as difficult as making a good one...nobody sets out to make a bad movie." 

Imperfect, as it's impossible to make a film by accident, but it has truth in its bones.

I'm a good father to the extent that I'm aware of some things, and can see some stuff clearly, that most people can't, or don't.  I should give myself more credit for it.  

I'm a poor one in that I'm marked by my life, as we all are, and there is selfishness in me and blank spots on the map I can't fill in where he gets lost from time to time.

But on balance I'm doing okay. He's nearly six and I looked into his little face this morning and saw the same love and openness as in this old picture I found on Flickr:

I could do better, but a least I'm not doing worse.