From time to time, I've shared some of my treasured memories of my Dad and his impact on my life here on the pages of RedState. With the readers' indulgence, I'd like to share a bit more. 

First, something I wrote on my personal blog not long after he passed: 

I come from a family of six. That's a fact I've known all my conscious life -- for I am the sixth of that six. We were only all under one roof for ten-or-so years but during that time, certain patterns were set. Most nights for dinner (at 6:30 pm), we all-six sat around the dining room table -- Dad at one end, Mom at the other, Karen and Julie on one side, John and I on the other. For car rides, the elder three sat in the back (and fought over who had to sit on "the hump" in the middle), while I got wedged upfront between Mom and Dad. 

It's been forty years since we lived in that configuration. We kids all grew up and moved out, though a couple of us did move back a time or two. We added boyfriends/girlfriends/spouses/children to the mix. There was always change but it seemed gradual, just a natural part of life. And it most always involved expansion of our family -- adding on, not subtracting. 

I'd not given it all that much thought in many years, to be honest. I had a unique relationship with each of my nuclear family members and thought primarily in terms of our subgroups. But those five -- they were my original tribe. My pack. The basis and foundation for my understanding of family and of love. 

Even as my Dad was declining and the rest of us were communicating frequently and coming together to spend time with him and support my Mom, I gave little thought to our number. Not until I was putting together the photo collage for Dad's visitation did it occur to me -- that we were no longer six. And as we said our final goodbye to my Dad during his service and I wrapped my arms around my brother, my sisters, and my Mom, my heart ached with the full import of that.

My sisters and I took my Mom out to a movie tonight -- thought it would be good to get out for a bit. We went to see "Little Women." It was a lovely, sweet movie, featuring, of course, a family of six -- who then lose one of their own. 

The story would be sad and bittersweet regardless but it hit extra close to home this evening. A precious reminder of how profoundly we are shaped by our nuclear family and how blessed I am to be the sixth of the six.

We are no longer six -- at least not on this plane. But we will always be six -- my pack and I. 

The pain of losing my Dad may not be as sharp as it was four years ago, but the ache of his absence is ever-present. Which brings me to something my colleague, Brandon Morse, addressed recently. 

SEE: In Defense of Bluey, Chip Chilla, and the 'Weirdly Present Father'

In response to a New York Times OpEd criticizing the fathers portrayed in the children's television shows "Bluey" and "Chip Chilla," Morse wrote: 

Bandit has been criticized by many as being an unrealistic father figure. He spends a great deal of time with his children, often coming up with fun games to play and taking a "yes and" style to their playtime. He's depicted as clever, able to find ways to teach his children lessons in the process without them even knowing he's doing it. 

And for some reason, this upsets people. In fact, in a New York Times piece published on Monday, Amanda Hess wrote that Bandit was "weirdly present" and described him as an unrealistic figure who spends time with the kids, helps with the housework, and still carries on a job. 

“Bandit represents a parent freed of drudgery, one whose central responsibility is delighting his kids,” Hess claims.

Hess had the same complaint about the character Chum Chum for the Daily Wire's children's show "Chip Chilla," a show that unmistakably takes inspiration from Bluey. In that show, Chum Chum is the father of two homeschooled children, and he teaches them about history. Like Bandit, Chum Chum is a jokester who focuses on making sure his children have a loving home, a good heart, and a breadth of knowledge.

I'll admit, Amanda Hess' characterization of engaged, playful fathers as "fantasy dads" and the notion of focused, involved parents as "weirdly present" irked me. I get the sense, reading her piece, that her painting of omnipresent, loving father characters as odd has more to do with assuaging her own guilt as a parent. I can assure Ms. Hess that most every parent I know battles a sense of guilt, wondering if we're doing enough and doing it right to do right by our progeny. But rather than sniff at a dad who's more involved than many seem to be, why not celebrate it as an example of parenting to which we can all aspire? There's a fine line between acknowledging reality and jettisoning admirable goals. 

My instinctive reaction upon seeing her characterization of fun, loving fathers as abnormal was to recall the many ways in which my own Dad was present in my life.

I know I was lucky. I had a Dad who worked hard and led a busy life, but always made time for my siblings and me and his grandchildren.

I had a Dad who would take me with him to political/campaign events and introduced me to the world of political engagement.

I had a Dad who…

— Susie Moore ⚾️🌻🐶 (@SmoosieQ) December 20, 2023

I know I was lucky. I had a Dad who worked hard and led a busy life, but always made time for my siblings and me and his grandchildren. 

I had a Dad who would take me with him to political/campaign events and introduced me to the world of political engagement. 

I had a Dad who would take me with him to the store — whether it was Central Hardware or GrandPa Pidgeons — and lift me high up over the curb as we entered and left the store.

I had a Dad who sang silly songs to me before he left for work, including his favorite: "Susie Moore-sy, by the doorsie..."

I had a Dad who'd take me to the pool and swim with me, even when he'd have probably rather been napping.

I had a Dad who "hired" me to work for him the summer I was 15 and all my friends were already 16 — driving me to work with him and letting me serve as an office secretary (who mostly just read romance novels but also learned to answer the phone, make copies, and handle basic administrative tasks). 

I had a Dad who went to church every Sunday, served, and taught me the value of both by example. 

I had a Dad who was unfailingly kind to my Mom. Who liked to get her special gifts and would enlist my help with that from time to time. 

I had a Dad who'd send me newspaper clippings and silly cartoons with "Love, Dad" scrawled at the bottom when I was away at college or law school. 

There's no question that I spent more time with my Mom than my Dad when I was a child, but my Dad was most certainly present. 

And that wasn't weird. It was love. 

As I said, I was lucky. I was blessed by my Dad's presence in my life. And every day — but especially on days like this — I am keenly aware of his absence. 

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