Because I’m nuts, I actually just looked up the proper location of the apostrophe for the phrase “Fathers’ Day” and found that the above is not the way it is written in the Congress’ bills and addresses on the holiday, and thus is not the official spelling of the holiday.   It is, however, the proper English punctuation to designate a day belonging to more than one father, so I’m sticking to my grammar book instead of US Congress.

The deacon who preached this morning pointed out that this day may not be a joyful one for everyone.  So many people in our culture have been hurt, abandoned, let down, or ignored by their fathers.  He reminded us that no matter what our biological father has done–or has not done– we always have our Father in heaven, Love Himself, Who is ever-faithful.

Amidst this crisis of fatherhood, Fathers’ Day is an occasion for me to acknowledge what an amazing man God gave to me to be my father.  As cliche as it may sound, I would not be the young woman I am today if I did not have that man in my life.  His quiet strength, his leadership of our family, his witness of faith — he has molded my siblings and I, whether overtly by his advice and support, or quietly by his example.

I think Sunday mornings are perfect compendium of my father, and I missed going to Mass today with him on this Fathers’ Day.   Dad unselfishly serves the Church as lector and extraordinary minister of the Eucharist, and rarely a Sunday goes by that he’s not serving in some capacity.  If he’s on call, as he was this morning, he still takes the time to come worship his King, knowing that his morning rounds at the hospital are only successful because of the Divine Physician.   And, as shallow as this may seem, I will always admire my dad’s Sunday suits.  It’s hard to complain about the lack of air conditioning in church in the middle of July when you’re standing next to Dad in his suitcoat.  He knows the way you dress in church is not indicative of the way God thinks of you– but of the way you think of God.  If he dresses up every day to see his patients, why wouldn’t he dress up to receive His Savior?

It would be impossible to say everything I admire about my dad in this post.  Every moment he’s living his vocation as husband and father– whether he’s seeing patients, mowing the grass, helping his scattered children with advice and support over the phone, or going to daily Mass.

One of my friends recently commented that she knew why I was still single– I was waiting to meet my father.  Perhaps Dad has set the bar too high.  But that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Happy Fathers’ Day, Dad!