DADS ...

I was having a bad day. I still may be having a bad day, but my brain has become more contemplative and less worried about my unfortunate circumstances. I was driving to Owen Sound, taking this turn and that, to avoid following large slow-moving vehicles. The grid-like roads in Bruce and Grey may not be sexy, but they make getting around things virtually fool-proof.

I came out on a sideroad where the school bus had just burped out three similar looking tots. Triplets? Not sure, but that's not the point. Dad was there waiting and he immediately slung three tiny backpacks over his shoulder. My heart made a noise and caused me to pull over to catch my breath.

Dads. Mine died when I was young so I'm a bit of a dad worshipper. I miss him every day of my life, but more so this time of year because I left him to go to my first year of university and a few weeks later, he left me. He died. But oh, what a dad he was!

So, I saw this dad on the side of the road and I remembered looking up at my dad and knowing, the way only children can know, that dads fix life. They save us from carrying backpacks, they scare the monsters out from under the bed without discussing whether there were any there in the first place, and they even make pancakes.

My girls don't have that. I've tried to be all things for them. I've tried too hard some days, but I'm not a dad and I can't be a dad. I can only be a mom.

Most of us eventually grow up and realize that most dads are pretty special and even resemble super-heroes on some days, but they can't save us from everything. Life sometimes knocks us down and scuffs more than our knees.

But when I saw that dad hoist the backpacks up on his shoulder and try to hold three little hands, it was nice to know there are some super-heroes out there. And I got to remember my own. He was the best sort of super-hero. He was my dad, the guy that, though he couldn't, wanted to save me from everything.

So I guess my day did get better.