A Open Letter for Father’s Day

Hi friends,

I was planning to write another Father’s Day post this year, because apparently that is what dads who write blogs do in June. We reflect, we get sentimental, we pretend we do not want attention, and then we absolutely check to see if anyone read it.

But this year, I wanted to do something a little different.

The Lurie Institute for Disability Policy recently held a blog submission contest focused on fathers with disabilities. I entered a piece called Father’s Day Is Also About the Kids Who Made Us Dads, and I am incredibly honored to share that it was selected as the winning submission.

So, yes, apparently Wheelchair Daddy is now an award-winning blog.

I had to sit with that sentence for a second too.

Not because I don’t believe in the piece, but because “award-winning” sounds very fancy for a blog that also includes jokes about parenting, snacks, teenage sarcasm, accessibility, and me pretending I know how modern technology works. But here we are. Very official. Slightly ridiculous. Deeply appreciated.

This piece came from a pretty simple place. I was thinking about Father’s Day, Jacob, and how much of fatherhood is not just about what we teach our kids. It is also about what they teach us.

We spend a lot of time celebrating fathers on Father’s Day, and obviously that makes sense. It is right there in the name. Very subtle branding. But the more years I spend as Jacob’s dad, the more I realize this day is also about celebrating the kid who made me one.

Not just the day he was born. Every day after that.

Jacob made me a father when his little hand rested on my wheelchair like it was the most normal thing in the world. He made me a father when he climbed onto my lap for rides and treated my chair like Dad’s chair, Dad’s wheels, Dad’s way of moving through the world. He never treated my wheelchair like a tragedy. To him, it was just part of our family’s normal.

That taught me something I probably needed to learn more than he did.

Before becoming a dad, I wondered whether my cerebral palsy or my power wheelchair would somehow limit his childhood. I wondered what I would be able to do, what would be harder, and whether fatherhood would look too different from the version I had in my head.

But Jacob never asked me to become some imaginary version of a father.

He just needed me to become his father.

That has meant showing up in the ways I can. Adapting where I need to adapt. Being present, staying involved, figuring things out as we go, and accepting that sometimes none of us have any idea what we are doing.

Which, if we are being honest, is basically the parenting job description.

The piece is about being a dad with a disability, but really it is about something bigger. It is about being shaped by your child. It is about realizing that our kids do not just receive our love, they form it. They stretch us, humble us, soften us, challenge us, and occasionally remind us that we know absolutely nothing now that they are teenagers.

Apparently, I knew everything before Jacob became a teenager.

Strange how that works.

So this Father’s Day, instead of writing a brand-new post, I am sharing the one Lurie selected. I am proud of it, grateful for the recognition, and even more grateful that conversations about fathers with disabilities are getting space, attention, and respect.

You can read the full post here:?

https://lurieinstitute.org/fathers-day-is-also-about-the-kids-who-made-us-dads/

Thank you, as always, for reading, sharing, encouraging, and being part of Wheelchair Daddy. This little corner of the internet keeps growing because people keep showing up for honest stories about disability, family, fatherhood, and the perfectly ridiculous moments that happen somewhere in between.

Happy Father’s Day to every dad, every father figure, and every kid who made us better than we were before.

Glenn
Wheelchair Daddy