You know, it’s funny. For years, I kinda just… went along. Dad was always there, doing his thing. I guess I took a lot of it for granted. It’s not like I was ungrateful, not really, but the depth of it? Nah, that hit me later. And it hit me in a way I didn’t expect.
So, what I’ve been doing, my little practice, if you will, started a while back. It wasn’t a big planned thing. I was having a rough week, one of those where everything feels like wading through treacle. And out of nowhere, I remembered this one time when I was a kid. I’d messed up something, pretty bad, I think I broke something expensive. I was terrified of the telling-off I was going to get.
Instead, Dad just sat me down. He didn’t yell. He just talked. About responsibility, sure, but mostly about how things break, and people make mistakes, and the important part was learning from it. At the time, I was just relieved I wasn’t grounded for a month. But thinking back on it, like, really thinking, I saw something else. The patience he had. The effort it must have taken not to blow up, especially if he was stressed about other stuff, which, let’s be honest, adults always are.
That memory sort of opened a door. So, my “practice” became this: I started actively digging up these little memories. Not the big holidays or birthdays, but the everyday stuff. Like, I’d remember the way he’d always make sure my bike tires were pumped before a weekend ride. Or how he’d actually listen to my ridiculous, rambling stories after school, even when you could tell he was wiped out from work. And all those little things he’d fix around the house, you know? Never making a big deal out of it, just getting it done.
And the more I did this, the more I realized. It wasn’t just one or two things. It was a constant stream of quiet support, of showing up. Things I barely registered back then, because it was just… Dad. But now, looking back, I see the effort. The sacrifices, big and small. The sheer consistency of it all. It’s like, wow. That man dedicated so much without ever asking for a parade.
It’s not like I had some big epiphany and suddenly became a perfect child or anything. Life’s messy. But this little habit of reflecting, of really seeing those past moments for what they were, it’s changed how I feel. It’s deepened my gratitude in a way that’s hard to explain. It’s not just a “thanks, Dad” anymore. It’s this profound, settled understanding of what he gave.
So yeah, that’s my practice. Just remembering. And appreciating. And feeling incredibly, incredibly grateful. It doesn’t fix all my problems, but it definitely puts things in perspective. And it makes me want to be a bit more like him, in my own way. It’s a work in progress, always. But I’m grateful for him, truly. More than words can really say, but I try.
