Fathers’ Day is pretty silly. We all know it’s just a big marketing gimmick driven driven by the seemingly innocuous greeting card industry. We all know it’s not a real holiday, since a real holiday would get us out of at least one day of work. And yet, we buy into it. Like, our parents making us feel guilty about not calling and not visiting isn’t enough, so now we need a full day designated to drive the point home, too.
That doesn’t mean I ignore the holiday. In fact, I thought a lot about Fathers’ Day yesterday. I get along really well with my father–I didn’t when I was younger, but I think we’ve both adapted. Despite some serious differences of personality, by-and-large, I’m becoming him. Unlike my mother, with whom I haven’t spoken in at least two years, my father and I talk all the time. Sometimes we even say “I love you.”
I thought a lot about my grandfather yesterday, too–my father’s father. Growing up, I was probably closer to my grandparents than mom and dad. My grandfather spoiled me rotten, and he taught me a lot, too. All that Little House on the Prairie fishing and hunting and wisdom stuff. It’s corny, but whatever. When he died my sophomore year in college, it was sudden: a heart attack in the middle of the night. He and my grandmother lived half an hour from the nearest hospital. He didn’t have a chance. Thinking of him now is enough to make my eyes water.
Of course, now I have a new father–a biological one. I don’t have any opinion of him. The closest I’ve ever gotten to him is his college graduation photo. I can only hope that he’s somewhere in Beirut, hoping to perhaps one day hear from his son.
And then there’s Jonno. He’s not nearly old enough to be my father, but he’s certainly my daddy: a man I love and who loves me back, without conditions or reservations.
Happy Fathers’ Day.
sturtle [dot] com 