After my father died I dreaded and hated Father's Day. I had a Father's Day related grief meltdown in Target. I avoid retail establishments as much as possible from the day after Mother's Day until the end of June. I know avoidance isn't the best way of dealing with an emotional (or any) problem. So, this year I decided to confront the Father's Day retail season. I've been to Target twice during the Father's Day season. I took deep breaths, summoned emotional courage and walked into Target. And the greeting card aisle in Walgreens. And I had to return a skirt for my mother at Macy's. These are heavy hitters of merchandising and display and I faced them. I confronted my grief. 

I like to think my dad would be proud that I finally took this step to confront my emotional hurdles. My dad was like that: He dealt with stuff head on. He didn't let things fester. Some of that is because dads have to deal with stuff head on, at least in my family. My dad was the one who dealt with broken things that required immediate repair or replacement. Plumbing, cars, anything wired - things we needed daily - those were my father's responsibility. If something broke he sprang to action. He had to spring to action because a family with three kids and a plumbing problem is unpleasant. He had to confront problems or things would only get much (much) worse. 

A coworker was talking about a broken car problem a few weeks ago. I said, "Yes, AAA is good, but it's times like these a dad is really handy to have around." She laughed and said her father was useless. Useless. I'm not sure if she meant useless with cars or useless in general. It felt a little uncomfortable, she seemed to have some father contempt, so I just said,"Oh, well, thank goodness for AAA!" 

Her offhand description of her father stuck with me. My father was not always perfect, but, one word I could never use to describe my father is useless. My father was the opposite of useless. But I don't like to think of my dad in terms of usury. 

I know not everyone is fortunate enough to have a great dad. I feel really, really sorry for those people. They have to face life with an unfortunate disadvantage. 
 
Life isn't always easy for me, I've had some difficult stuff to handle. But. No matter how bad the situation I have one reconciliation: I won the parent lottery. When it comes to life factors I hit the mega million jackpot with my parents. People like my coworker, who describe their father's with adjectives like "useless" don't have the advantages I had. 

He wasn't a good dad. He was a great dad. 
 
Here's what we get when we are lucky enough to have been given great fathers. 
 
We get wisdom, joy, firm but fair discipline, unwavering support, the secret to riding a two wheeler and tricks for memorizing multiplication tables. 
 
We get the toys our mothers deem too dangerous or expensive and the explanations for all things mechanical, athletic and scientific. 
 
We get gently coaxed into the deep end of the pool and we get bedtime stories narrated in deep, funny voices. 
 
We get the pronunciation and proper use of swear words and the importance of a firm but not creepy handshake. 
 
We get stern warnings about fire, force and speed and lessons in how to use tools and why it's important to take care of them. 
 
We get yelled at when we lash out in teenage anger, and we get forgiveness 10 minutes later. 
We get introduced to the mysteries of outer space through fact and fiction. 
 
We get to listen to Elvis, Bo Diddley and Ronnie Hawkins. On the way to church. And we learn the importance of a decent set of speakers and a quality amplifier. 

We learn that sometimes presents are brought home from business trips. And sometimes they're not.
We get an extra $20 surreptitiously slipped to us on our way out the door and a sly "don't tell your mother" glance. 

We get Barbie Dream Houses constructed and waiting for us on Christmas morning, and we get a lecture on the importance of taking care of things and not carelessly breaking them. 
 
We get long summer evenings around the backyard barbecue, and longer winter nights at the kitchen table going over homework until we get it right.

We get picked up from school dances and a ride home without having to talk about what happened at the school dance. 
 
We get an understanding that true bravery has nothing to do with wrestling bears or shooting guns. 
 
We get shoulder rides when we're little, and we get jocular pats on the back and hugs so tight and enveloping it gets hard to breathe for a few seconds when we're too big to sling up on shoulders.  
 
We get the threat of being disowned if we ever so much as consider skipping an oil change every six months or take the batteries from the flashlight and use them in the portable radio. 
 
And we get to always, always feel safe. 
 
We come out ahead in the deal, especially since we did absolutely nothing to earn any of that except to arrive screaming into his world, demanding his time, knowledge and money. 
 
Here's the problem with great dads: You also get the emptiness and loneliness when they're gone.