Joys of Father's Day
It's
two weeks past the end of school, and each day my kids let me know that they
are bored.
The
first time was the day after classes let out. One son called my office no less
than three times to ask if he could play on my computer. "Why do you need my
computer when there is a perfectly good Wii in the house?" Certainly a logical
question, unless you are nine.
Then,
I come home to three bickering sons and so much testosterone-based attitude, it
makes being a dad that tender delight celebrated so gleefully each summer.
Ah,
yes, Father's Day—designed to compliment Mother's Day way back in 1908
(though not officially recognized in the U.S. until 1972). But to be honest,
it's the best holiday of the year behind Christmas and my anniversary.
While
a few gifts are nice, the real joy is in seeing how my sons will try to make
the morning special. And it doesn't hurt that my wife offers up a little extra
attention, as well.
Iit
was the same for my dad. There wasn't a huge to-do, but we would gather around
him while he read our cards and opened our gifts. He simply appreciated the
moment of appreciation.
The
tradition in my house is that the boys sneak downstairs with their mom. They
brew a pot of coffee and try (unsuccessfully) to quietly make breakfast to
serve me in bed.
Nothing
is more entertaining than listening to them tiptoe over creaking floor boards,
rattling pots and pans, and speaking in loud mutinous whispers as my oldest son
tries to take command of the effort. Have I mentioned that my youngest has all
the stealth of John Belushi in "Animal House?"
In
gentle loving voices they say, "Good morning, Father — Happy Father's
Day!"
Okay,
so that's the dream. The reality is an onslaught of flesh and bone when they
bolt into the room and lunge onto the bed. There's no good morning until after
I suffer some injury from the attack and their mother orders them to be sweet.
And, really, they are. Because the best part is just kicking back with them,
one on each side while one sits on my lap, and a good cup of coffee nearby on
the nightstand. I'll open a few cards and maybe we'll catch part of an old
movie. But like my dad, all that matters is the moment and that it makes all
things worthwhile.
Copyright 2006 by David Falloure
