Hey there, kiddo:
Remember that letter I wrote you about Mother’s Day? The one in which I begged you not to screw things up and just behave so that your mom could relax and enjoy her special Sunday?
This letter is a little different. For one thing, it’s about me not Mommy so I can speak a bit more freely. For another, until football starts, Sundays are pretty much meaningless to me. I don’t care about them. Even this coming one.
That’s right: this Sunday is Father’s Day. But I’m here to tell you not to worry. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t need a tie or a handmade card or golf lessons or a membership to a beer-of-the-month club. I don’t even need you to be on your best behavior (besides, you should ALWAYS be on your best behavior). Just go ahead and take it easy.
Weird, right? As a kid, I was appalled that my father, your Pop-Pop, never asked for anything for Father’s Day, or for Christmas, or even for his birthday – except for the old “for you and your brothers to get along” pipe dream. For kids, gifts are everything, so when I was your age, not wanting anything simply did not compute. But now that I’m a dad, I finally understand my father’s mindset.
First, kids give terrible gifts.
Second, when you become a parent, you quickly realize the best gifts aren’t in a box or an envelope. The best gift is the hug I get when I put you to bed, or the laughter I get when I tickle you, or the 30 minutes of extra sleep you give me every fifth weekend. None of those are premeditated, or holiday-specific; they’re just you being you. And that’s all I need, every day.
Just because this Sunday is called Father’s Day doesn’t make it any different. I don’t care about Father’s Day.
This Sunday isn’t any more special to me than any other Sunday, or Saturday, or weekday. I don’t care for or need a commemorative brunch to celebrate my so-called sacrifices or dedication or hard work, especially not from you. Why should my child reward me for NOT being a terrible father?
I already know I’m not a terrible father. I’m not bragging, and I don’t think I’m the best father of all time or anything, but I know I’m not terrible simply because I love being your dad. I am secure in that, and I don’t need your recognition for doing, to quote Kid Rock, “Bawitdaba da bang a dang diggy diggy diggy said the boogy said up jump the boogy” Chris Rock, “what [I’m] SUPPOSED to do.”
I like recognition as much as the next guy, but being a dad isn’t about recognition. So you can chill.
I know what you’re thinking: does this mean you can get out of kissing Mommy’s ass on Mother’s Day, too? That’s up to your mom. (Here’s a hint: no.)
And it doesn’t mean we’re going to abolish Father’s Day either. Because despite that I don’t need validation to continue doing a job I love – or to continue doing it even on those days when I don’t love it (like, say, during potty training) because I love you – these holidays aren’t really for the people being celebrated. They are for the celebrators. It’s fun to celebrate loved ones. Why do you think you get so much stuff at Christmas? The joy is seeing you happy. And that’s the only gift I need this weekend.
Well, that’s the only gift I need from you this weekend. Because Father’s Day isn’t your problem.
Father’s Day is Mommy’s problem.
Love,
Your Dad
P.S. I actually will take one of those beer-of-the-month club things. Just tell your mom.
A version of “Don’t Care about Father’s Day” first appeared on Dad and Buried. Photo by Juliane Liebermann on Unsplash
Great stuff! My feelings exactly. My parents used to call Mother’s Day and Father’s Day a “Madison Avenue holiday” and I felt the same.
It wasn’t until my wife felt under-appreciated on her first Mother’s Day that I had to take a different tack with her. But really, all I want for Father’s Day is what I have every Sunday.
My father has departed this earthly domain countless years ago. Although I do think of him periodically. Otherwise, Father’s Day, to me is more BITTER than sweet. The close-knit and joyous father and son connection, I once had with my own boy-o, has been virtually evaporated. Leaving just trace elements, due to the continued tampering of his mad birth-cow! Nowadays, I simply loathe anything to do with, fatherhood, marriage….and of course….”FATHER’S DAY!!”