Meltzer is a rabbi at Ohr Shalom Synagogue in Bankers Hill and a lecturer in SDSU's Department of Religion and lives in University City.
What does it mean to be a father? I've been thinking about that a lot lately. It's been a little over 22 years since my first son was born, and I've had three more children since then. Throughout all of that, I've just enjoyed being a father without really giving it much thought.
I changed diapers for nearly a decade, packed lunches for even longer, attended Little League games, plays, and recitals, drove tens of thousands of carpool miles, and re-did every grade from kindergarten through high school three or four times, redoing all my homework but, thankfully, not a single test.
But that is now in the past. Three of my four children no longer live with me, at least not for the duration of school. My oldest is really leaving home and going to the Peace Corps for two years. And my baby will soon get her driver's license.
I refuse to believe that my job is done. I am still a father, I am still their father. And I expect a greeting card on the third Sunday in June.
As I ponder what being a father means to me now, I think back to my three fathers. My first father brought me into this world. He taught me to ride bikes and love horses. His name was Ron. We only lived together for five years, and in the same city for a few more, but he was and always will be my father. He taught me to be fiercely honest, to treat everyone equally, and that character matters more than anything else. It's been almost six years since he passed away, but I still hear his voice and miss him.
I was fortunate to have a stepfather for most of my childhood. His name was Joel. My “real” father lived in Texas, so in San Diego, my stepfather was my everyday father. He taught me to be kind to everyone, to have joy when I could, to celebrate the good, and to love the Padres. I sometimes called him “Dad,” and he really was. He deserved it.
I don't mean to make him seem like “the new Johnny,” but my new father has only just come into my life for the last 25 years. When Jennifer and I got married, I knew Don was a part of it. Don't get me wrong, marrying Jennifer was the biggest joy of all, but her father is a wonderful bonus.
My father treated me more like an “outlaw” than a “stepfamily” in the beginning. He denies it, but he is definitely my father. It has been that way for most of my adult life, and I am grateful for my good fortune. I call him Dad, or more often, Papa. And because of his influence, I am a much better father to my grandchildren.
My dad taught me patience and compassion. My dad taught me a love of continuous learning and curiosity. My dad helped me find a peace I never knew before. My dad taught me that it's possible to be a good person and love the Dodgers. But please promise not to tell him I wrote that.
Three fathers who loved me and taught me how to be a father.
I have learned that if you have even one person in your life that you can call “dad” or have ever had one in your life, you are very lucky, and it is wonderful to share that good fortune with them.
And I've learned that if I'm lucky enough to have one or two people in my life who call me “Dad,” it's like I've won the lottery, and before I open my cards on the third Sunday in June, I'm going to make sure I tell each and every one of them that calling me “Dad” is the best thing anyone has ever called me.
Happy Father's Day.
