Sofia and Bob
I’ve been staring at pictures of horses. As Father’s Day approaches — my 22nd as a dad — my reasons for relishing the third Sunday in June stare back at me, next to their favorite pals from their riding days at Aintree Farms. Each picture was taken around age 10, Sofia (my firstborn) with her beloved Bob and Elena snuggling with Toby. My daughters’ smiles are so exquisitely genuine, their happiness so evident, their hearts so full next to those magnificent equine companions. And here in June 2020, I want so much to see those precise smiles. I’m convinced I will, but it may take some time.
Earlier this month, as streets across the country were filling with Americans brought together by heartbreak and disgust, my daughters confronted each other over our dinner table. George Floyd may as well have been seated at the table with us, my family of four hurting like millions of others around the world. One of my daughters made the case that every American police officer must now be scrutinized on a new scale, and must meet a morality standard — a new morality standard — before donning a badge. Her sister argued that the vast majority of American police officers are good and decent people, and doing a job most of us would not want on the best of days. Sofia and Elena were both right. But try moderating that debate from the vantage point of a parent. There is no chapter — no footnote — on such a discussion in the Daddy Do Right handbook.
Our country stricken by racist behavior brings acute pain whenever it happens. But during a pandemic? Are you kidding?! The only reason both of my daughters were home for that discussion in Mr. Floyd’s memory was the continued shutdown of society for the coronavirus outbreak. Sofia — a junior at Wesleyan University — was studying abroad in Cape Town, South Africa, as recently as late March. A dream semester she had circled on her life calendar way back in middle school. That dream ended prematurely, and can’t be renewed. At this point, she’s merely hoping to experience her senior year on the college campus she’s known as home since 2017.
Elena and Toby
As for Elena, she will forever be a member of the Class of 2020, in her case graduating this month from White Station High School, her diploma handed to her through the passenger window of our car during a drive-through “ceremony.” She lost her entire softball season, the final one she would have played. There was no senior prom. There was no exchanging of yearbooks in the White Station hallways, gathering notes from classmates she may never see again. Like her sister, she now simply hopes her college of choice — Saint Louis University — has a living, functional campus come fall.
So I stare at pictures of horses. I don’t imagine horses know there is currently a pandemic ravaging the world around them. I don’t imagine horses understand racism and the pain it causes the little girls (and grown men) who enjoy happy moments with them in a riding ring, those who offer complimentary apples or carrots as expressions of love. But I know horses understand companionship, and I believe they recognize the joy they bring those little girls (and grown men). There is so much hope I see in those pictures of Sofia and Bob, of Elena and Toby.
I remember my own dad on Father’s Day. When I consider how I might be remembered, the only measure that truly matters is the way I’ve loved my daughters, and how I’ve loved their mother. So much of fatherhood is unplanned, unexpected. It’s impossible to meet the standard we should every day, every year … especially some years. But we must continue trying. Loving. And reminding our daughters (and sons) that kind hearts prevail, and companionship has rewards like nothing else. Like the friendship between a horse and a little girl.
Frank Murtaugh is the longtime managing editor at Memphis magazine.