My dad is a man.
I realize that may not come as a great shock. Biologically, it's a bit of a given. But let's put aside the male aspect for a moment. The guy exudes manliness.
Can he fix a car? Not exactly, no.
Is he handy around the house? I think I saw him wield a plunger around a couple times growing up, but otherwise no.
Does he have a tattoo? I've never known him to, and based on the chastisements he'd sternly issue me whenever I joked in my teens about getting one, I think it's relatively safe to say he doesn't.
Does he own a motorcycle? Are you kidding me? Try talking him into flying somewhere first.
Forget all that – Martin Anderson is a man. A working man. A family man. A wise man. A good man. He puts the needs of his family first and of himself last and straight up takes care of business to ensure those priorities never alter.
As previously divulged, I've never once had a need in life that wasn't met, all of childhood included. We certainly weren't anywhere in the zip code of wealthy, but we weren't poor. We were somewhere in the middle class, perhaps favoring the lesser side, but that was nevertheless a whole class better than my dad knew in his childhood. Not to mention our status and literal "needlessness" stemmed nearly exclusively from his single income, save for my mom's occasional venture into part-time work.
In every aspect, my dad is a provider. His history paints that picture plainly. Wherever a financial demand has arisen (cars, home, my college, my recreational activities... the list is endless), so has he to that occasion, often occupationally stretching himself beyond what any one man should – and certainly beyond what many husbands and fathers are willing to. That by zero means translates to I – or anyone in the family – always got what I/we wanted (which to me is a good thing). But it does mean I lived a childhood and young adulthood free of actual concerns until I was firmly established on my own, and the significant portion of credit goes to him.
In college (a rather expensive, private one, for which I only got a "half ride," at that), I found myself nearing the end of a four-year pursuit of a teacher certification, eyeing a future in teaching high school English, a career choice I grew less excited about with each semester. And then in the latter part of my junior year, I realized that waiting on me in my senior year was a semester of student-teaching, which made me even less excited. Always having a predisposed adoration for all things London, I decided to ditch the student-teaching idea and the teaching career altogether and study abroad the following fall semester – quite possibly the wisest decision I ever made for my future. But nothing about London, or really studying abroad anywhere, comes cheaply.
In steps The Man, The Provider, who with the extremely generous, checkbooked assistance of other family members (high five to you, Mommo, Aunt Phil, and anyone else I've unforgivably overlooked), paid my entire trip by picking up a second job. And a third job.
Three jobs, people. The man worked three jobs – one of which was a freaking convenience store clerk – to fly me to, from, and all over Europe; to allow me to indulge my senses with foreign foods and sights; to immerse me in cultural education and, subsequently, several crash courses in survival and self-development; to let me, in the truest sense of the word, carelessly enjoy a three-and-a-half-month experience I'd otherwise never get to in life.
What else did those three jobs do? Pay for my scholarship-less half of college. My dad wanted me to start my post-college life debt-free. A man who came from one of the smallest houses in Georgetown, Kentucky, and who carried around debt for decades of his life, wanted me to begin my adulthood with a clean slate. That is a gift I'll always treasure and of which I'll always be in awe. It's also one I, to the best of my ability, will always honor by staying out of debt (save for a mortgage – homes are expensive, folks).
This is just one example of Lord knows how many ways in which my dad, as the family provider, has sacrificed his desires for the betterment and happiness of the family. He is the definition of selflessness. Sure, he treats himself to the occasional luxury (why that man owns more sets of golf clubs than I own pairs of shoes is beyond me), but on the whole he and his personal wants and time without hesitation willfully take a backseat if it means his wife or sons can have or experience something we otherwise couldn't. Simply put, his commitment to the good of the family is never in question.
Honestly, I don't see how it gets any manlier than that.
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