I Want To Be A Daddy Fifty Years From Now

My grandpa was a tall broad man with thick hands and a firm jaw. I remember him wearing overalls, a white undershirt, and workboots. He grew up on a farm outside Gypsum, Kansas, but he never wanted to be a farmer. In World War II, he flew 100 missions as a tail-gunner, but he never spoke of it. He wasn't a big talker. He died at 74. That was fifteen years ago.

We don't talk about him very often, but when we do, my mom still calls him "daddy." That says something about the man. I hope my daughter is still calling me daddy fifty years from now. It seems like a long way off now, but then, forty seemed like a long way off twenty years ago and now it is here.

It's not hard to believe I am forty years old.

I like to think of myself as a realist, whatever that means, but time mystifies me. Upon reflection, yesterday seems surreal and tomorrow feels more like a prayer than certainty.

Tomorrow is Monday. I will be working from home, because both Julia and Andrew have Halloween parties at school. Alisa and I will decide who will attend which party in the morning.

I am grateful for this opportunity. I realize many working parents don't have the degree of flexibility that I do. This flexibility is due, in part, to the culture of my workplace, but would not be possible if not for the efficiency and success of my team.

I am fortunate. In addition to having a wonderful family at home, I have a wonderful family at the office.