Reflections of Father's Day.

Because I'm still relatively new to fatherhood, I’m not yet used to the idea of Father’s Day as a day off for myself, or even a day that is remotely about me. Naturally, I still use it as a day to remind my dad that he is my hero and that, despite the ugliness of my parents’ divorce some 23 years ago, he still deserves a lot of the credit for the man I am today.

But as far as it being “my special day,” I’m just not there yet. And that’s disappointing to me, really – as difficult as it was for us to conceive a child, as shocking as his eight-weeks-early arrival was, you’d think I’d be more appreciative/reflective of the day. I’m sure I will be in due course.

I did, however, receive an award for Father’s Day. I was named “Best Dad – Hands Down!” by my son. There was apparently some fingerpaint that came with the shirt, and he put his handprints on it. It was very sweet. This award goes alongside my “#1 Dad” award that I received last Christmas. Honors such as these are great resume-fillers.

Naturally, seeing other dads out on Father’s Day with similar articles of clothing causes me to laugh on the inside at them, and then in short order, a case of the Ike Turners comes over me:

“Uh-huh. Sure, you’re ‘The Greatest Dad In The World.’ Pfffft. Your shirt is fraudulent – did you know that? Cause mine says, right here --- pardon? … Sir, I would suggest that you sit back down and enjoy your steak ... what's that? Well, why don’t you just bring it, then, and we’ll see who’s Best Dad In The World? I’ll whoop your ass, bitch! I swear, I'll take your ass down! Hold me back, Wife! This guy's asking for a knuckle sammich!"

(I wasn’t laughing so hard after we got thrown out of the Ponderosa.)