Ken Sehested
Processional. “I’m going to watch you shine / Going to watch you grow / Going to paint a sign / So you’ll always know / As long as one and one is two / There could never be a father / Who loved his daughter more than I love you. —“Father and Daughter,” Paul Simon
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Among my most treasured photos is the one below, of me and my second born, Alayna (a few moons ago). Such a cherished face, with me beaming in recognition of such loveliness.
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“When there was no ear to hear / You sang to me. . . / When there were no strings to play / You played to me. . . / When I had no wings to fly / You flew to me. . . / When there was no dream of mine / You dreamed of me.” —“Attics of My Life,” Grateful Dead
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Almost as treasured is of Alayna’s first born, Jordan, helping me mow the grass. This one, too, is from a while back. Jordan recently turned 20. (Whose umbilical cord, along with his mother’s, I had the honor of cutting.)
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“Just the Two of Us.” —Will Smith
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And then there’s me and my Dad, circa 1952.
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“I’ve heard of God the son and God the father / I’m still looking for a God for the daughters.” —Little Big Town, “The Daughters”
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For many, Father’s Day (like Mother’s Day) is poignant and filled with sweet recollections. But for more than a few, these observances are filled with mixed emotions and conflictive memories.
Which is why I never grow tired of rereading the posts my friend Courtney Walsh sends every year on these occasions, this one for dads’ day:
“As we head into this weekend: I am thinking of all of you who are not fathers but want to be, all of you who decided not to be fathers but feel society’s pressure, all of you who navigate the realities of being a stepfather or a former stepfather without a current connection to kids you cared for, all of you who have lost a child, all of you whose fathers have left this Earth, all of you whose fathers weren’t/aren’t who you needed them to be. This weekend may be tough for you. Please remember that you are loved and you are not alone.”
And, yes, it’s true: Some children remember their father’s eyes more with fear than delight. But today, let’s remember the fathers who bless.
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Recessional. “As my soul slides down to die. / How could I lose him? / What did I try? / Bit by bit, I’ve realized / That he was here with me; / I looked into my father’s eyes. / My father’s eyes. / I looked into my father’s eyes. / My father’s eyes.” —Eric Clapton, “My Father’s Eyes”
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