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.

Roots and wings: A Father's Day story

I'm here in New Hampshire. My daughter is in Connecticut. And my son, the recent college graduate, is in San Diego, or maybe Los Angeles, as he continues a cross-country journey by car.

You'd think I'd know exactly where he is at every mile of his trip. He has a cellphone that he carries with him all the time. I have a cellphone I carry with me all the time. Same with my daughter. And yet, we don't talk to each all other the time.

And I think that's a good thing.

As I approach Father's Day -- my 25th as a dad -- it's an interesting question for this Baby Boomer to ponder. When it comes to being in touch with your grown children, how much is too overbearing? How little makes them think I don't care?

I guess it comes down to this: I care enough not to bug them too much.

With my two kids and my wife Jane's four -- all six of them over 21 -- we have a fair amount of experience watching how children grow up and grow out of the house.

We have a magnet on our refrigerator that says: "Give your children two lasting things ... one is roots, the other, wings."

The hope is that we've grounded them enough so that we don't fret too much when they spread their wings and fly away.

It used to be while they were in college that we'd talk a few times a week. Now it's once a week or so.

They know they can get a hold of me when they need me. I know how I can get a hold of them when I need them.

It's a mutual trust between parents and children -- we trust in each other's love to know we're there for each other, even if we're not there.

It'll be the first Father's Day that I won't have the company of my son, David. It certainly won't be the last. As they get older and as circumstances will dictate, they won't be there in person to celebrate Father's Day. It's the same with birthdays and holidays. We'll be together for some, not for others.

The cellphones and Facebook and Twitter and email give us access to each other all the time. But the 24/7 means of being in touch in fact requires a delicate touch.

Roots ... and wings.

Make them grounded. Let them fly.