I remember watching a lot of sunrises with my dad.
One cold November morning, on the opening day of shotgun season, I missed every deer I shot at. It was my first season carrying a gun and deer literally appeared from every direction as we sat next to the 4-wheeler in a fence row. I shot at least 6 times with my single shot 20 ga. and only managed to clip some belly hair on a big old doe. Dad was patient with me, even though I know in his head he was probably counting the dollars I was spending in yellow slugs.
Later that spring, I shot a jake with that same gun from a homemade ground blind. I was sitting on the left, dad on the right, and the bird slipped in quietly from the right before getting spooky and putting. Dad coached me through the shot as I leaned my gun barrel over his belly and killed the bird at 15 yards. I know it left his ears ringing, but it was worth it (for me at least...he would probably agree too). It was one of those absolutely perfect spring mornings and I'll never forget walking back to the truck with that bird as the sun rose above the treetops.
Earlier this week, Kim and I brought our first child, Rhett Daniel Kirby, home from the hospital. We already love the little dude more than I thought possible. All the cliches people say are true - once you hold him and lock eyes, you know deep down that your life has changed forever.
But it's challenging. He was a big baby, and after a full night of labor, Kim had a c-section at 5:04 am. With her still recovering from a major surgery, it requires more of me just to feed and change diapers, and we've had to really work together all hours of the day and night.
The first night home from the hospital was pure anarchy. Kim and I honestly didn't know how we'd make it through the night. Rhett finally fell asleep at 5 am, the house strewn with blankets, pacifiers, diaper bags and clothes. I watched the sunrise in silence, afraid to even turn on SportsCenter in fear it might wake him. And as the warm light of dawn hit the side of his face, a sense of relief came over me...."Thank God we made it."
Those are the sunrises Rhett and I share together now.
I've often heard that the true measure of success is what you do when nobody else is watching. I've seen it in sports, and I've seen it in my art career. I painted a lot of paintings that nobody has ever seen. Long before I had an Instagram account or a website with a logo. Long before I was asked to paint an Outdoor Life cover or invited to SEWE. Before anyone was paying any attention, I was working a full time job and painting late nights in a spare bedroom and reading books on color theory. I failed often, but learned from each failure and kept telling myself not to give up.
Just like anything in life that really matters, I'm learning that being a father takes time and commitment. It requires more of you than you think you have to give, and yet each time you find the strength to give it. A kid's first deer, first little league game and first bluegill caught off the dock make great Hallmark cards. And we'll get to all of those eventually. But I believe that most of being a great dad is what you do when nobody else is watching.
So on my first Father's Day, here's a shout out to the dads that have given and sacrificed in ways that we may never know about. The hard working dad that took on some overtime to slip a little extra into the college fund. The dad that passed up the dream job because it required his family to move across the country. The dads that held bottles, barbies and blankies when they'd rather be holding a beer.