I Got What I Wanted For Father’s Day
I suppose if you are going to have a Mother’s Day you are somewhat obligated to have a Father’s Day. If you didn’t there would be a hue and cry about it. Therefore, we have a Father’s Day.
A few weeks ago my wife, the lovely and holiday conscious, Dawn, asked me what I would like for Father’s Day. Apparently she did not find my reply of, “The Monday morning after Father’s Day,” to be appropriate or all that helpful.
In reality, I really don’t “want” anything. I certainly don’t “need” anything. I have managed to not wear a necktie since I officially retired (with one exception – a wedding). I prefer to buy my own socks and underwear, and power tools and I are not a good mix. I guess that I’m just a hard person to buy for. My needs are simple and my wants are few.
Father’s Day came and there was a lovely acknowledgement in church to all of the fathers. A card from Alex and seeing him and Dawn together – THAT was what I wanted for Father’s Day. What more could I want? Seeing them and knowing that I am loved and appreciated is all that any man could want. I am indeed blessed on Father’s Day and every day.
Father’s Day is a day filled with good intentions that somehow gets steamrollered by Department Stores and Online sites that sell every gizmo known to humankind. A few years ago on an episode of the old Cosby show they mentioned that the Father had a drawer filled with a collection of miscellaneous things purchased, used once, and then forgotten. Father’s Day is a lot like that.
It has become almost a cliché that Father’s Day gifts are, by some unwritten law, useless, ugly, and/or, a puzzlement. Is there a factory somewhere in the depths of China furiously cranking out gross after gross of baseball caps that have built-in cupholders and plastic tubing so that Dad can sip his beer hands-free while, theoretically, chomping on a hot dog or chicken wing?
I’ve always wondered what the people who make things like that must be thinking while they are fabricating the toilet seats that project a bulls-eye into the toilet bowl so Dad can get rid of the beer he has been sipping – without making a mess in the middle of the night.
I suppose that there are many Fathers who would love being gifted with a new belt sander or drill press. Unfortunately, in my hands, those things turn into weapons of mass destruction. I am glad that Dawn understands that and has never given me anything that could be used on “This Old House.” I suggest that anything for me should be closer to, “Animal House.”
Now it is Monday, the day after and things have returned to normal here in Terre Haute (That’s French for, “Why is your necktie glowing?”). The FBI still isn’t talking about their raid on the School District offices, the liquor stores are still carding people who buy just ice, and Interstate 70 is still clogged with 18-Wheelers piloted by drivers strung out on meth, crack, and pot.
Yup, things are back to normal.