“Did you miss our Father’s Day sale?” the ad on my phone asked. Not only did I miss the sale, I bypassed Father’s Day altogether. Another Dad’s Day has come and gone. This day dedicated to acknowledging dads usually swishes by me without much notice. Unless I happen to be on vacation, I always work that day. And while my family demonstrates special love and affection to me on that day, it’s typically just another full day. Father’s Day is gone before I have time to sit down and relax.
Even if it’s not a workday, Father’s Day can be an active day for many dads. I recall the story of the dad whose children wanted to treat him to miniature golf on Father’s Day. It was a brutally hot day. As the dad followed his three small children from hole to hole, someone shouted, “Who’s winning?”
“I am,” said one kid. “Me,” said another. “No, me,” yelled the third. Sweat dripping down his face, the dad gasped, “Their mother is.”
I wish I had more memories of my dad on Father’s Day. I’m afraid that day came and passed without enough attention on Dad.
It helps me if I try and justify my lack of recognition to Dad by remembering that he was not one to sit still for long, and so my guess is, it was a challenge to get him to relax long enough to celebrate him on that day. Dad was the anxious and nervous type. He was prone to worry about all the bad things that could happen. I recall watching my older brother playing football when I was in 5th or 6th grade. The game had already started when Dad arrived. He’d had a late appointment at work. One of the other dads said in a voice loud enough for those around him to hear, “Well, here comes Nervous Nellie.”
Anger boiled inside me, not towards my dad but towards the man who spoke. Dad wasn’t perfect, but one thing my brothers and I knew: Dad would show up. Of course, he did more, much more for us, but showing up is what mattered in those moments of life.
A little league outfielder stood in the hot afternoon sun, eagerly awaiting the next play. Sure enough, a line drive whizzed by the pitcher and made its way directly to the boy. The coach and team watched in horror as he missed the ball. While stumbling around, it became apparent that he was disoriented and had not seen the ball coming. Later, in the dugout, his coach asked what happened. Blushing, he looked at the ground and admitted that he had not been paying attention. When asked why his reply was simple: “I was looking in the stands for my dad. He promised he would come.”
My dad may not have always been on time, and he fidgeted while he watched, but he was there. That’s what mattered to me; that’s what I remember.
If Father’s Day flashed by you this past Sunday, it’s still not too late to tell dad you love and appreciate him. And if he’s already gone or simply absent, do something you wish he still could or perhaps should have done: show up. If it’s not possible for you to be there for your own children or grandchildren, be there for someone, somewhere. That’s what matters; that’s what they will remember: show up.