My Father has never taken a yoga class and yet, at 65 years old in downward facing dog his heels come straight to the ground. My Father is grounded and, at least my life time it seems, always has been.
Growing up I didn’t I know how lucky I was. There were times where we were stressed about money but we always, always had good food, a home, and I usually got the latest “in” pair of shoes or gadget along with the rest of the posh Livermore crowd of suburban kids.
The other day a friend of mine was talking about her dad guilting her mother over a poorly cooked meal and it really clicked with me–how absolutely wonderful my Father is. There are lots of wonderful fathers out there in the world, and I am so lucky to have been born to and raised by one of them. Thanks Dad!
My Dad is the kind of man who will drop what he’s doing to help a friend move or to help his daughter change a flat tire. He might gripe to me a bit but he is always, always there. Growing up, even when I was my most difficult teenaged self, my father never once called me a mean name. He never once looked me in the eye and said an unkind word to me. He maybe cursed as he was leaving to take a drive and cool off, or did the dishes in an angry way, but he never, ever turned his anger on me. That’s some strong medecine. This was not because I was an easy kid to raise. I lived my last high school years how most kids live their first college years.
I spend a lot of time discussing and studying Buddhist thought and analyzing myself to try to be a better me. Most of my friends are somewhat in the same boat. When you spend so much time thinking about all this, it’s easy to overlook those more quiet practitioners of metta, loving-kindness. Those folks who seldom pick up a spiritual book, but who just seem to get it.
So here’s to my Dad, and all the other folks out there like him, who just seem to get it. May you be blessed with the love and appreciation you deserve!
