Jewish World Review June 14, 2002 / 4 Tamuz, 5762

Lori Borgman

Lori Borgman
JWR's Pundits
World Editorial
Cartoon Showcase

Mallard Fillmore

Michael Barone
Mona Charen
Linda Chavez
Ann Coulter
Greg Crosby
Larry Elder
Don Feder
Suzanne Fields
James Glassman
Paul Greenberg
Bob Greene
Betsy Hart
Nat Hentoff
David Horowitz
Arianna Huffington
Jeff Jacoby
Marianne Jennings
Michael Kelly
Mort Kondracke
Ch. Krauthammer
Lawrence Kudlow
Dr. Laura
John Leo
David Limbaugh
Michelle Malkin
Chris Matthews
Michael Medved
MUGGER
Kathleen Parker
Wes Pruden
Sam Schulman
Amity Shlaes
Roger Simon
Tony Snow
Thomas Sowell
Cal Thomas
Jonathan S. Tobin
Ben Wattenberg
George Will
Bruce Williams
Walter Williams
Mort Zuckerman

Consumer Reports


The Ways a Father Says "I Love You"

http://www.NewsAndOpinion.com | When I was a kid, I thought my dad was like a big overstuffed armchair. You could climb on him, jump on him, sit on him, and even depend on him to cushion you when you fell. He was plain, durable corduroy, not some fancy brocade. He was as sturdy and reliable as the matching boxy ottoman, nothing particularly exciting like the leather La-Z-Boy recliner a delivery truck dropped off at the house across the street.

The value of sturdy and reliable did not become apparent until I began a family of my own. Only then did I learn that sturdy and reliable may be the greatest qualities a father can possess. In the business of fatherhood, reliability - showing up for the routine, the mundane, the day in and the day out - is often the measure of success.

My father the armchair has never been a particularly talkative man. Truth is, I have few memories of my dad saying I love you - but more than a thousand of the way he shows it.

My dad said he loved me when I was real little and he took a second job working at night. He pumped gas and cleaned windshields so the family could add onto the kitchen and have a few extras like a yellow parakeet and piano lessons.

I heard my dad say he loved me in kindergarten when he found out the reason I didn't want him to visit my class was because all the other dads had straight hair and his was a crazy mass of waves and curls. He heard the story and simply laughed.

My dad said he loved me when we took a vacation to Disney World beneath the searing summer sun. The smoldering pavement heated my rubber flip flops to the temperature of miserable, so my dad let me walk through the park on the top on his feet.

Dad said he loved his kids every Sunday afternoon when he'd stretch out on the floor for a nap. We'd twist the hair on his arms, lift his eyelids to see if he was still in there, and hold our fingers under his nose to feel his breath. He didn't chase us away, just pretended to snore louder and increased the laughter.

My dad spoke love when he would read something truly terrible in the newspaper, set the section aside, fold his arms and say to no one in particular, "I would count it an honor to catch someone in the act of hurting a child and rip them limb from limb." He said it and he meant it. And the world seemed a safer place.

Over and over, my dad said he loved us by dispensing sound advice: There's no such thing as a free lunch. Dress in layers, you're less likely to freeze to death. Never let the gas tank get below half full. It's not the problem that matters, but how you respond to it. When one door closes, another opens.

My dad said he loved us by the way he loved our mom, shoveled snow from the driveway and killed silverfish on the bedroom walls.

Of all the things a father teaches a child, the most important is how to say I love you.

Enjoy this writer's work? Why not sign-up for the daily JWR update. It's free. Just click here.


JWR contributor Lori Borgman is the author of I Was a Better Mother Before I Had Kids. To comment, please click here.

06/07/02: Garage Sale Treasures
05/31/02: No Pudgy Hour at the gym
05/19/02: Ozzy, if you come for dinner, bring change
05/19/02: Instant Messaging and LOL
05/10/02: Some mothers get something more
05/03/02: I Nudge, Therefore I Am
04/25/02: Motherhood is seasonal work
04/19/02: Paper trail to college
04/12/02: What to cook or not to cook
03/31/02: Mom and Dad Break Curfew
03/22/02: Introducing P.P.M. (Partners Per Month)
03/15/02: Birth of a Pothole
03/08/02: When Enron Momma gets mad
03/01/02: Little hope for bookaholic
02/22/02: Wrestling with prejudice
02/15/02: Say What?
02/08/02: Kitchen intelligence
02/01/02: Age-old words
01/25/02: Abortion: Switching Sides
01/18/02: Kids, take note
01/11/02: The heart-stopper e-mail
01/04/02: The slightly sunny side of 2001
12/28/01: The Way Things Work
11/30/01: The Leftover Shuffle begins
11/27/01: Glasses bring age into focus
11/16/01: A different portion of Thanks
11/09/01: The Next Stage of Parenting
11/01/01: Of boys and patriotism
10/26/01: College Son the Invisible Man
10/19/01: Out of the closet ... and into the school
10/12/01: A Parent's Guide to Dating
10/05/01: "Taking Care of You"
09/28/01: Time indivisible
09/24/01: Refueling capitalism
09/14/01: A time to mourn
09/07/01: Lack of modesty stirs the troops
08/31/01: Scholarship search an education
08/24/01: The test for parents
08/17/01: Immodest proposals
08/10/01: Trying to R-r-r-re-re-relax
08/03/01: It may be shabby and chic, but it ain't cheap
07/20/01: Bride showered with sage advice
07/13/01: Baby Bear Finds Driving "Just Right"
07/06/01: Pale at the Thought of Bronze
06/29/01: A Dog's Best Friend
06/22/01: Rethinking fatherhood
06/14/01 Don't forget to lock the door
06/07/01 How grandma punishes her kids
06/01/01 Hearing voices
05/25/01 Cyborgs for Better or Worse
05/18/01 The death of Common Sense

© 2001, Lori Borgman