Fifty to sixty years ago, these third Sundays in June would be spent quietly. We’d wish our father a happy Fathers’ Day and that would mostly be it. My father enjoyed reading and sometimes he’d do that on Sundays. Fathers’ Day was not much different.
I know I’m supposed to be writing about writing, but I have something to say. And this is one of the few forums left me these days so you just listen. It won’t take long and then I’ll be gone for some weeks before there’s another post here from me.
Fathers’ Day, sometimes we’d go fishing, or we’d have a barbecue. But those things happened on other Sundays, even on other days. Beyond wishing dad a happy day and maybe trying to be a little quieter than usual back when I was a fairly rambunctious kid, the day passed by pretty much like any other.
Later on …
Forty years ago and thirty and twenty years ago … hell, even ten years ago it was more a case of dropping in to visit and say hi. Having a coffee and a chat for an hour or so was the fare for the day.
And that was good. It was good all around. We didn’t make a big deal of it and that was fine with us both. We acknowledged the relationship we both enjoyed and appreciated.
That was a different time I guess
I’ve watched over the years as Fathers’ Day has turned into another hitching post for the latest great sale at the big box store. I’ve watched it become the reason you need to go out for dinner.
I’ve watched as advertisers have tried to figure out the magic words to convince you that Fathers’ Day is a competition you must win and you won’t win it unless you acquire for your father the At-Meta-9000 Limited Edition Dad-Gadget v2.0 and have it specially gift wrapped.
Over the years, it’s true …
I bought my father the odd Fathers’ Day gift, but inconsistently at best and never anything lavish or outlandish. He wouldn’t have liked it.
I remember buying him a pocket watch once to replace one he had lost or that had broken. It was a nice watch. It didn’t cost a bundle, but it also wasn’t cheap. He declined the gift, he said it was too much and that I should keep it.
I told him I didn’t need a watch right now and asked him if he’d hold onto it for me and break it in. He thought about that for a moment and said he could do that. I told him if he could just keep it until he had no use for it and then get it back to me.
Ever now and then …
I thought about that pocket watch as the years passed. And then came the day my father was in the hospital and looking none too good. I was visiting him and as I left I told him I’d be back the next day if he was still going to be around. He told me to call first.
As I walked out of the hospital I had something in my eye I couldn’t seem to wipe away. I knew my father was saying goodbye. I knew we had just said goodbye. I knew he wouldn’t be there the next day.
On the day we buried him, the watch was slipped into my hand, the final goodbye from the man.
Listen … today was my kind of day!
It has taken me 63 years to catch up to my father. I never knew him when he wasn’t a father. He never knew me when I was a father.
But last October I became a dad. Today, at 64 years of age I celebrated my first Fathers’ Day as an actual father. I took my 8 month old son to the bay and with him in an infant sized PFD we went swimming. We got an ice cream cone for “dad” at Big Bay Store. We played and laughed and had a good time.
And I decided that I don’t want a watch from my son ever. I just want time with him. I want all the time. My father had over fifty years to know me in. I have a hard time imagining I have that long.
I want to love my son as much as I can for as long as I can. That’s what I have to tell you.
And if you came here looking for a post on writing …
My message for you is this: Inside of you is a story. Maybe it’s your story or maybe you made it up. Maybe it’s a parallel of the life you live or maybe it’s your life verbatim. Tell that story. Please. Like I’ve just told you mine.
