Once a dad, always a dad

My most recent picture of my children,

taken in May at David's graduation from

a master's program at Columbia.

I love being a dad.

And I love being a granddad.

My celebration of Father’s Day will be with a cookout with family on Saturday evening.

My daughter will be there, visiting from Connecticut. My stepdaughter Kelsey will be there with granddaughter Rylin. My son, David, is in Washington, D.C., and can’t make it, and the other stepchildren (Patrick, Eileen and Reilly) too are scattered about right now.

My celebration will include a toast skyward to my own dad, who I hope knows how much he has contributed to my richness of being a dad.

Of late, I’ve fallen into certain familiar dad patterns with Rylin, almost six months old, that I did with Elizabeth, my oldest, now 28.

I call Rylin “Goose” and “Munchkin” and “Pumpkin” in the same way I would Elizabeth. It’s no wonder Rylin looks at me with quizzical eyes, as if to ask:”Just who does this guy think I am anyway?”

Of all the things Rylin is, she is not “Scoot.” That was, is and forever shall be reserved for Elizabeth.

I love being a dad because I find the kids interesting. They’re engaging and wonderful company. They’re very smart, and they make me feel much smarter than I actually am. It’s an osmosis thing.

I’ve separated myself enough from the day-to-day chores of being a dad.

It’s been a long time since Elizabeth or David needed to be changed or fed, prodded to finish a fifth grade school project, driven to karate or gymnastics practice, or reminded to make safe, responsible decisions about going to prom.

They’re full-fledged adults, making full-fledged decisions about life, love and the pursuit of happiness.

But that doesn’t mean the elements of being a dad end. I worry - mostly in silence, sometimes out loud about this or that. And I miss them.

Elizabeth is great about calling once a week. If the phone rings at 7 o’clock in the morning, I know it’s her. And David and I play chess -- via text messages that keep us touch by 140 characters or fewer with each exchange.

But sometimes the regular phone calls and texted chess moves aren’t enough; it requires getting in a car or on a train to see them, to give them a hug and a kiss, to view them in the environments they’ve created for themselves.

Here’s to being a dad -- to what it was then, to what it is today, to what it will be in the years ahead.