Hang in there, Bus Stop Dad, you're doing great

My morning drive to the office takes me through 6+ miles of mostly residential streets. I see people walking their dogs, little kids playing in front yards, and bathrobe-wearing senior citizens fetching the newspaper.

The cast of characters varies, but there are three people I see consistently. As I head down Lander Road, I always notice a particular dad standing with his two little boys while they wait to catch the school bus.

The boys wear Minecraft-themed coats in the fall and winter. I would guess them to be maybe 7 and 9 years old. They are always moving, chasing each other around or running up and down the driveway to blow off morning steam before having to sit still for several hours at school.

Their dad is a tall fellow with a beard. Usually he's holding a mug that I assume contains the coffee he needs to jumpstart his day. That day, I imagine, consists of getting the boys onto the bus, hustling to get himself ready, then heading off to work to put in 8-10 hours in support of his family.

I have seen the mother only a few times, because (I'm guessing) she needs to be at work earlier than her husband, so it's his job to make sure his rambunctious little sons get to school.

"Rambunctious" is a word my mom would have used for them. "Spirited" is another euphemism meant as a polite alternative to "occasional pains in their teachers' asses."

Maybe I'm wrong about the boys, though. They could be angels in the classroom and hellions at home. I can only go by what very little I observe of them as I drive past at 35mph.

The dad, however, I do know. I don't know his name, of course, and I don't know what he does for a living or where he grew up.

But I know the life he leads. I know the things that keep him awake at night when he thinks about his wife, his boys, and what he needs to do to make sure the lights stay on and food appears on the table.

I know the uncertainties he has even after nearly a decade as a father. I know his often-troubled internal monologue and the confident front he puts on for others.

I don't know him personally, but I know him as a member of the Brotherhood of Dads.

He's out there day after day with his kids, his coffee, and his anxieties.

And there's no place in the world he would rather be.

Part of him looks forward to the day they can drive themselves to school while part of him dreads it. He knows these exhausting mornings are the stuff of memories and that someday he'll miss all of it.

I don't think I'm reading too much into this situation, even though I see him for only 2-3 seconds at a time, three mornings a week.

Because I've been him.

And I'm here to tell him, whatever his name is, that he's doing a great job. Much better than he thinks he's doing. And that those boys have a million reasons to know they are loved, including the fact that their father uncomplainingly stands outside with them while they wait for the bus in heat, cold, rain and snow.

Keep going, my friend. In case no one has mentioned it today, you're an amazing dad.