Father’s Day is in two days and I’m a really a horrible daughter because I did not get my Dad’s card in the mail. I’ve been so busy since we returned from visiting them (just last week) and it kind of snuck up on me.
Excuses, excuses. I’m a horrible daughter. (This is what I do to myself — this self-deprecating thing that’s cute for my protagonist in my novel, but in real life, it is TIRING.)
Anyhoo, I did get my Daddy (yes, I still call him Daddy) a Sam’s Club Card. My mother who knows this man of few words better than anyone told me, “Don’t get him a shirt or pants or a movie. Just get him a Sam’s card so he can get what he wants.” So I did and left it with her. I was SUPPOSED to get him one of those mushy Hallmark cards and send it but I didn’t.
I called my Mom earlier so she could absolve me of my guilt.
“No, you’re not a horrible daughter, it’s okay, just send it later and when you call him on Sunday, tell him time got a way from you. He’ll be fine.”
“Seriously, Mom what does he do with the cards anyway?”
“He puts them on his dresser and looks at them and reads them for a long while.
I. AM. A. HORRIBLE. DAUGHTER.
To make up for my grievous gaff, I’ve already planned to not only send a card, but a goody box of popcorn, nuts and chocolate kisses and possibly one of those old John Wayne westerns which he probably already has. Every weekend he and my Mom go to Sam’s Club where there is a plethora of John Wayne selections. He’ll get a hot dog and a coke. Mom just goes along with it — she doesn’t like cokes or hotdogs, but she loves him. It’s their thing.
My Dad is not a social person and my Mom, very social. He is a very handsome man, even now, he’s handsome. He’s like one of those strong, silent cowboys. He doesn’t say much but when he does, it’s usually something that MEANS something. When I was growing up, he KNEW every guy that was a jerk (and I dated a few), before they ever opened their mouths and he was very intimidating. He’d just sit and stare, maybe grunt if they dared to say anything. He made guys that wanted to date his girls uncomfortable. It was intentional so that they showed their mettle (or lack of).
And, he was right — every single time. My first date, he gave me a quarter before I left (this was before cell phones) and told me, “You remember you’re a lady. If you need to, call me and I will come get you.”
He has very simple needs and wants. He can built ANYTHING. He’s an artist and he notices little things — like birds’ nests in trees (and he can name any tree) and they have a gorgeous garden, always have. I think they call that organic now.
I grew up organic because of Daddy and because of my Mom. Anyway, I’m getting all misty here. He’s not perfect my Daddy, but he’s mine and though he doesn’t read blogs or anything, I’m sending this out there anyway:
Happy Father’s Daddy. I Love You.
(I think that’s a good as any Hallmark card).
And, for all the DADS out there, the same to you – HAPPY FATHER’S DAY.
Have a great weekend everyone.