Father's Day

The Evolution of Love

The timing of Father's Day has always struck me as beautifully imperfect - arriving in the chaos of end-of-school activities, graduations, and the full bloom of children's lives spilling beyond the neat boundaries of calendars. Perhaps that's fitting. Fatherhood itself rarely follows neat schedules.

This morning, as I watch the cardinal families outside my window - males darting between feeders with urgent purpose, the whole flock splashing together in the fountain - I'm reminded that in nature, parental roles are clearly defined. But for us humans, the lines blur and blend, creating both conflict and possibility.

When my parents divorced as I entered second grade, my understanding of fatherhood became divided between two worlds. There was the everyday world with my mother - homework, discipline, the steady rhythm of single parenting while working full time.

And then there were those four visits a month with my dad - his apartment, then the small house by the fire station where he served as chief, finally the home where he and my stepmother blended our broods - my three biological brothers suddenly joined by four step-siblings.

But the story grew more complex still. My mother remarried, bringing my stepfather and his two children into our daily world. Unlike most species in the wild, where young have one clear paternal figure, I found myself navigating relationships with multiple father figures - each offering different lessons, different kinds of love, different ways of being a man in the world.

My father's love was never in question. I always felt safe with him. But looking back, I recognize what some called "Disney dad" parenting - those visits filled with Atari games, drives in his car, afternoons at the fire station, time with grandparents. Fun and freedom, but detached from the daily weight of raising children.

Now, when I hear him talk with my husband, I catch the regret in his voice. He speaks of work taking precedence, of missing the hands-on moments, of not seeing the long view while his head was down in the trenches of providing for four children under his roof. His regret feels universal for that generation - men doing their best within the limitations of what they knew fatherhood to be.

I had friends whose fathers broke that mold - dads who would emerge from bushes with water guns when we pulled into driveways, who were as hands-on with hearts as they were with play. They seemed rarer then, precious exceptions to a more distant norm.

But watching my husband and his friends with their daughters, I see fatherhood evolving with intention. Through programs like Y-Guides at the YMCA, these men have created deliberate spaces for connection - monthly activities where fathers and daughters learn to trust each other in new ways, where mothers step back and let different kinds of bonds form.

I laugh remembering the photos from their beach weeks - the girls wearing the same clothes for days while the dads remained blissfully unconcerned. What mattered was the memory-making, the relationship-building. Last week, as my daughter Miko attended her final tribe gathering before graduation, each girl spoke of how their relationship with their dad had shaped what they would seek in future partners. More beautiful still, they spoke of having multiple dads in the group they could turn to—a chosen family of safety and support.

Parenting may be one of the hardest and most rewarding endeavors we undertake. If our future truly rests in our children's hands, then having fathers who are growing, evolving, and staying present offers profound hope.

The cardinals outside seem to celebrate something today - their roles clearly defined yet somehow joyful in their execution. For us humans, the blending and overlapping of parental roles can create exhaustion and conflict, but it can also offer our children a richer installation of qualities from both parents.

No matter who you are, you have a father somewhere in your story. For some, that relationship represents everything—strength, love, security. For others, it's layered with complexity, absence, or pain. Just as on Mother's Day, I wish you whatever you need from this day of remembrance and recognition.

The truth that sits with me as I close is simple and universal: I think it doesn't matter how much time we get with our children, we reach an age and realize it was never enough.

Cheers to the dads who are doing their best, who are evolving, who are present in whatever way they can be. And cheers to the children who teach us, generation by generation, how love can grow and deepen and change.

In the spirit of the wild, where every creature tends to their young with fierce devotion and imperfect grace.

xx,

Victoria