I grew up with a dad. A father. A coach. A standup comedian. A travel guide. A storyteller. A nurturer. A brilliant mind who knew about every tree, and road, and animal, and tractor, and just about anything we might see out of the car window. A disciplinarian. A hugger. An, “I love you-er”. A supporter. A be there-er. A sports goer person. An affectionate lover to my mama. A loyal man. A devoted husband. A believer in good. A man of God. A lover of family. A writer. A lover of good music and good coffee. A memory maker. A fair man. A volunteer. A choir director. An enthusiast of life. A savorer of moments. A history teacher. A man whose organizational system baffles me to this day. An exceptional listener. An eloquent speaker. A voice from the angels. A taxi driver. A cream-dried-beef maker. A don’t divorce the salt and pepper teacher. A breakfast baker. A provider of Dr. Martens. A fun maker. A consummate hospitality provider. A committed employee. A disc jockey. A friend. And a great example of what a human should be.
I had a lot to find.
If I wanted to marry a man like my father. If I wanted for any future kids I’d have to be children to the brand of dad I’d been lucky enough to have. I had a lot to find.
So, I determined… Easy peasy, no marriage for me. Definitely no kids. I will just be the cool aunt.
And then. Then, I walked into a Nebraksa Basketball game, took a standing position in the Red Zone with a sorority sister, and met one sweet, gentle, funny brownish-eyed boy. A sports goer person. That I knew right off the bat. I was 19. And I was most definitely not on the prowl for a husband. A boyfriend. Or a distraction. But there he was.
A funny sports goer person. One who made me laugh uncontrollably. One who wanted to hold my hand and my heart. One who, on our first Valentine’s Day, cooked Chicken Fettucine Alfredo {a made-from-scratch recipe of a friend’s mom}, in his dorm room. We would sit in his room and he would attempt to help me understand microeconomics as we listened to a variety of music playing in the background… And I had to remind my self over and over that we were there to help me pass that class. Not to snuggle because I could have lay in the crook of his neck forever.
We started exploring together. Not just traveling, but adventuring to different restaurants and meeting people and hearing their stories. We started, very quickly, wanting to be together more than we wanted to be apart.
And I was in love. In love with a guy one year into college. But I wasn’t even going to get married. There went that. Because once I met this man, the idea of being a wife was actually appealing. There was no possible way I would find that with anyone else.
We talked about our big dreams. He supported my crazy ideas. And my crazy emotions. He called me beautiful. And said that he wouldn’t change a thing about me. He made me breakfast. His eggs were on point. The best I’d ever had besides my dad’s. He had a love for Nebraska sports. And thankfully, tailgating drinks and apps. And was loyal to his team. Win or lose. He was about the experience, the atmosphere, and ultimately, a game well-executed.
We went to church together. And held hands as we prayed. And he would tell me stories as we’d take road trips about “that tree” or “plane” or “town”. He always had some sort of new knowledge that he’d gleaned about the tech world or just the world around him that made him fascinating to me. And he’d listen to all my stories — whether they were about wanting to join the peace corps or how my sister and I would make up roller skating dances to Chantilly Lace.
He shared his family with me. I shared mine with him. It all felt right. And I knew, more quickly than I ever would have thought possible that NOT ONLY was he a man I could marry. NOT ONLY was he the man I had to marry. But also, this was a man I’d want to have children with.
A man who I’d want to see be a coach. A supporter. A listener. A teacher. A disciplinarian. A nurturer. And the list goes on and on. This was the man who I wanted to be lucky enough to mother alongside. The man who I wanted my children’s other half of their genes from. The man that I could only hope my children would be like.
Because of how much he reminded me of my own dad. That, perhaps crazy to admit now, “checked” so many “boxes”.
And I decided that if we could raise children with a childhood like I felt so blessed to know and like he felt so blessed to know, well, I might just like that an awful lot. In fact, it might be the type of life I never knew I had to have for me.
And so here we are now. Eleven years after this day. Where we said all the things in front of all the people.
Fourteen years post-meeting. And I’ve discovered so much more than I ever knew about this man that I get to call mine.
I know that he surpasses the label of “an incredible” father. I know that he is a loyal employee. I know that he makes a mean steak. I know that he is thoughtful in all that he does as he fills both of our water cups each night before he snuggles up beside me. I know that he would help me fight for my life. I know that he wants to teach his kids in all things. And make them laugh whenever possible. I know that he is a lover of people, and God, and family, and life. I know that he values people and experiences over things. That he would give up anything of his, including his poop, if it meant he could make my life and health better. I know that he will love me when I’m bald and boobless. And that he also possesses an interesting organizational system.
I know, that for me, if I had stuck with my original plan, I probably could have had a great life. A full life. No kids. No husband. Cool aunt.
But after seeing him in the Red Zone. After seeing him down on his knee. After seeing him waiting for me at the end of the aisle. Seeing him at our first ultrasound appointment. Watching him hold our first son. And then our second. And then, holding my hand as we lost our third. And knowing how to care for our three pound wonder. After watching him advance in his career. And be a family man through and through. And, of course, watching him as I looked behind me as they wheeled me off to surgeries and procedures. After all the life I’ve lived with this man as my partner. My favorite. My love. And my unwavering support.
I just can’t even imagine how on earth I would have known life could be so beautiful if I didn’t get to experience it with him each day.
Happy Father’s Day to the man who provided my checklist — my dad.
The man who my husband looks up to — his dad.
And to all the dads out there who are rockin’ this dad gig.
But to my one and only, thank you for making me believe in true love, firsthand. Thank you for making me want to become a mother. And being just the father that I would have picked for our boys. You constantly make me proud to be by your side. And to parent right along with you.
Happy Father’s Day, FOAB.
I love you more than bacon. Or coffee. Or pedicures. Or laughing. Really. And if that doesn’t express the volume of my love for you, I don’t know what can.
I had a lot to find. And it turned out, I didn’t even have to look. I just had to tag along with a girlfriend, and there you were. Everything on my “list”. And more.
