As Father’s Day approaches, she finds a sign that her dad is always present

My dad did it again. He sent a sign, this time on his birthday. It was a day I made extra busy, which in retrospect could have been subconscious planning. Skeptics would say it was a coincidence, or that I looked for the sign. But I did not. The hello from above was sudden and more than subtle.

I had actually traveled home by plane that day, after my husband and I visited our son. The morning was whirlwind enough, getting yelled at by TSA agents, flipping luggage here and there, tying shoes in a rush, flying through the clouds, finding our car at the economy parking lot, then oddly missing the correct highway connection at the airport exit. There was no way I was trying to be spiritual or all woo-woo on a travel day.

Once we arrived home, I greeted my brother. He was in town to keep our mom company while I was away. The three of us were sitting and chatting about my trip, when something outside the window caught my eye.

A deer.

In the early afternoon.

In my suburban backyard.

That yard is in the middle of a cul de sac completely surrounded by other houses with kids running around and jumping on trampolines. Everywhere you look, there are huffing joggers and whiz-by cars and zippy bikes and raging lawn mowers.

Unusual deer appearances happened to me twice before, both times related to my dad. Once in New York on a rainy night when I realized his life was in danger, and then again, a year to the exact day of that first appearance, but in my Kansas yard.

We managed to grab a picture of the deer before it bolted. It spotted us gasping and pointing by the window. I reminded my brother it was dad’s birthday. We gasped again. (Last Thanksgiving, when my other brother was here, a barred owl planted itself on a tree near my front door. Again, I don’t live in the Hundred Acre Wood. Another sign? Maybe.)

I used to complain about this time of year. Every mid-May through mid-June, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and both my parents’ birthdays were clustered together. It was always Hallmark whiplash. In my case, before the deer appeared, I was thinking this upcoming Father’s Day might be a little rough.

And like Mother’s Day, Father’s Day can stir up some bittersweet feelings for many folks. I think it filters down to where you are in life, and your parent-child history. Maybe all your loved ones are here, and everything is close to perfect. If so, fire up that grill and pour some ketchup on your good fortune.

Or maybe, for a million reasons, your recent expectations of how family life should be are not aligned with reality.

And I use the word aligned intentionally because no matter what, most dads are automotive-ly hyper aware of the importance of straight wheels and regular tire rotations. Everything in life can be whack, a dad can miss the mark in so many ways, but if the treads on the tires are wearing evenly maybe he’s trying. Old dad might say the wrong things or wear embarrassing jeans, but he could be trying in ways we never realize.

I don’t know. My dad always did his best even though he was born in a time and place of historic setbacks and tragedies. He had no head starts and no parenthood manual. He was an immigrant who enriched America with his wit, his charm, his work, his creativity, his service in the U.S. Army and most of all, the genuine love he passed down to his beloved grandchildren. He did his best to show up for all of them. And now, they are all making this world a better place.

My dad’s happy moments were always around nature, especially in his backyard garden. I don’t think that deer showing up in mine — on his birthday — was a mere coincidence. Father’s Day is going to be OK.

Reach Denise Snodell at stripmalltree@gmail.com