To Dad

Peter Sherowski—that's my dad—turns 72 today.

The thing to know about dads is that they're just humans. They helped give us life, sure. But they're just guys. Of course, when you're little, they're larger than life—mythical. You're afraid and in awe of them. Then you grow up a little and blame them for stuff—as if they, a single man, were responsible for everything wrong in your life. And sometimes they are. But it feels good to get past that, to get on in years yourself and pull back for the high-level view—some perspective, way out here in a place beyond emotional baggage.

That's when you can relax and shoot the shit with them, find out about their lives, what they were into before they were into you. Be FRIENDS—yes, friends with yer old dad! Of course, they'll prob drive you straight back up the wall tomorrow. Is there anything richer and more fraught than family relationships?

Side note: I think the dads of my generation made it really hard to date the men of my generation. They were too bad ass. My dad can skin a deer and build a house. He can crawl under the hood of your car and fix it. He's a man's man and he hustles and in comparison, some of the guys I've known and loved are, well, just boys. Poor them. : )