i don’t care about father’s day. i am sure that’s not a surprise to those who know me at all. there are plenty of reasons, and i’ve found myself examining them today every time i look at my three kids. i look at them, and i know they are the best thing i have done and the best thing i am doing and the best thing i will ever do, and i love them more than anything else in life (it’s impossible for me to say or write those words without cringing because they are not enough). they’re the reason i hang around this existence. so i made them breakfast in bed today. that’s how i engaged with the day. and now …
… here are the reasons i don’t care about father’s day:
• i hate my father.
• i have a scar on my lip that i get to see every day as a reminder of my father’s “love,” not to mention the chronic pain in my ribs that are a combination of his love and a car accident.
• my father sold my dead mother’s golf clubs, which my mother bequeathed to my daughter, because he “needed” money, and he’s done nothing to make amends.
• my father rescinded his admission of the abuse he delivered over my years living with him and reiterated that i deserved what i got because i was a bad kid — and he did it in front of my children and my wife.
• it’s a bullshit “holiday” designed to make us spend money on shit.
• i am a stay-at-home dad and nothing about this day has any connection to what it is i do day in and day out (perhaps i should be celebrated on mother’s day and Erika should be celebrated on father’s).
• laius sounds like a fun dad.
off to make dinner. roast beef, mashed potatoes and some veg. a dinner my mom would love. so raise a glass tonight and say, “here’s to nanny, sadly dying.” we’ll be doing it with you out here in the ether.