Father's Day Again

Dads

A dad will tell a joke that’s lame,
You will laugh just the same,
He will say that you must hurry,
Then will tell you not to worry,
Sometimes he might curse and grumble,
But when praised will seem humble,
He will watch his children grow,
With love and pride he may not show.

Well here we are at Father's Day again. The years go by so quickly that it feels like we just celebrated this day not too long ago, but, obviously it's been a whole year.  This year, as in most previous years, we spent the day quietly and just with the four of us. Not just because of the pandemic, but that's who we are. We are low key and content to spend a lazy afternoon in our air conditioning since it was a hot & humid day. It was at least sunny so I could use the grill to cook dinner. It was requested that I cook a T-bone steak and some foil pouch potatoes on the grill. I added shrimp cocktail, asparagus and sautéed mushrooms to the menu, with mixed berries and whipped cream for dessert.  It was all delicious!

While I was out cooking on the deck I could hear what some of the neighbors were doing to celebrate. It was so nice to hear kids laughing and squealing with delight, and some were splashing & playing in a pool with their dads. One neighbor, who has no small children and is divorced was talking on the phone while watering new grass in her yard. Perhaps she was talking to her father, I like to think so but I don't know.  Still another began mowing his lawn after dinner while his children played together, the little girl dancing around in a princess dress. It was a really pleasant day, and quite relaxing.

Fathers. They're all different, yet some things are the same--lame "Dad" jokes, reassuring, sometimes cranky, awkward and humble when praised, and loving under a somewhat gruff exterior. Those of us blessed with good fathers are grateful beyond measure.

Remembering Dad

My Dad fixed radios and cars, mowed over Mom's flowers in the yard,

 Worked long hours every day, didn't have a lot to say,

 He was there and he was calm, in times of stress he was a balm,

 We miss him so every day and honor him on Father's Day♥

 

Dad was the one who mowed the lawn once the old push mower was replaced with a motorized version.  I only ever remember my mother using the old non-motorized one, and only remember Dad with either the gas or electric powered models.  My mother loved to plant flowers around the yard, and worked hard to keep the weeds at bay, (unlike me who grows a bumper crop of weeds along with flowers every summer).  There was one particular spot on the side of the house by the kitchen window where she always wanted a pussy willow.  I’m not sure how many times one was planted there, and was just starting to take root and grow when we’d hear “crunch!”, followed by the lawn mower’s sudden silence and some curse words.  Dad ran over the pussy willow—again.  I’m not sure why he kept forgetting it was there, I suppose he was just wrapped up in whatever thoughts he had while cutting the grass.  We were probably lucky he didn’t run over one of us four kids—surely there was some temptation there at some point!  It sort of became a family joke; after all, he also ran over the little pine trees we planted after bringing them home from school on Arbor Day—one of them actually survived and grew taller than the house.  I’m not sure if it’s still there as I haven’t driven past the old place in a couple years.

Dad was an avid chess player and reader of paperback books.  He spent a lot of time reading mysteries by Agatha Christie and westerns by Louis Lamoure.  He’d play a game of chess against anyone willing to play, and although he passed away when my oldest daughter was rather young, he taught her at the age of 5 to play chess.  I never had an interest in chess, I preferred (and still do) playing games that involve words.  Cribbage was another game he enjoyed and I have to say I did try to learn it a number of times but strategy and math are not my thing.

He was a quiet presence, and I recall as a small child running around excitedly when he came home from work.   After dinner he’d read me a fairy tale, my favorite being “The Brementown Musicians”, and play “Patty Cake” or “Slap Hands”, which was an invented game where he’d put his hands out palms up and I had to try to pull my hands away before he clapped his together.  Silly, but it kept me entertained and probably improved my reflexes!

I’m so glad I have such happy, vivid memories of my father.  He was part of “the greatest generation” as Tom Brokaw put it, and I think he was right.