If I Made Father's Day Cards

After a quick browsing of the Father’s Day cards at the local Hallmark store, I discovered that 95 percent of the selections mocked dear ol’ dad in some way, shape, or form. The other five percent were under the heading, “Blank Inside.” A similar search last month for Mother’s Day revealed zero cards making fun of moms.

The Father’s Day cards mainly poked fun at our fathers’ affinity for belching, farting, napping, cursing, and remote-control using. Whereas Mother’s Day cards either praise mom for her love, care, and devotion; or offer up some sort of apology for having to put up with difficult children. Why has it become so accepted to deride dad on his day? This should not be the case (except for my sisters and I, -- there’s simply too much material), because we all know about the societal, emotional, and spiritual importance of having an active, strong, and masculine influence for children of both genders.

I have a great dad and I’ve never sent him a Father’s Day card that made fun of him because why send a card when it’s easier to laugh with him in person. I usually try to find a card that will make him chuckle. Choosing a card for him always reminds me of the times when he came through for me in the clutch like Big Papi, even if I forget to tell him. Things like holding my hand while I got stitches in my head from a floor-hockey accident in PE class. Or for building me a loft in my college dorm room. Or driving to Lansing at a moment’s notice to pick me up after my college was flooded by a month-long monsoon. Or finding me a job in a bathroom counter-top factory in which I was the only employee without a parole officer.

Now if I were designing Father’s Day cards, I would create a genre of cards to thank dad for providing a safe, warm, secure, and loving home. God only knows how many miles my dad drove selling medical books to put food on our table, braces on my teeth, and a private Christian education in my mind. He did it without a cell phone, an iPod, or books on CD. He did it with the faithfulness of a postal worker and still had the energy when he got home to take me to court, both tennis and basketball.

My next type of cards would be for never once insulting me, putting me down, or abusing me. Instead compliments were given and the utterances of “I love you” were as numerous as mosquito bites in the summer.

There would be a section of cards for recognizing his talents, from meatball making, to story-telling. He had a forehand like that of Jimmy Connors and a set shot that would make Bob Cousy proud. He writes, gives speeches, quotes Shakespeare, and can discuss anything from the Opera to what the Crawley’s are up to on Downton Abbey. He’s one of the few members of the Geezers who aren’t afraid of Technology club. He iPods and iPhones, downloads, and uploads, Googles and Facebooks with the aplomb of a college student. He can even understand the person from India when he puts in a troubleshooting call.

And finally, there would be a genre for standing strong during tragedies. When cancer hit our home three times he twice valiantly stood against it like Stonewall Jackson. He shaved his own head, shuttled mom to countless chemo sessions, and became an expert in making homemade juice in an effort to employ radical treatments. In mom’s final year on this Earth, he blessed her with a surprise birthday party and a couple of trips across the country to see loved ones on both sides of our family. Her last year was without a doubt the best of their 45-year marriage.

When the cancer finally won I watched him grieve. It was the absolute worst of times, but he was strong. As a now mom-less family, I truly believe that we all were bonded closer together because he didn’t fall apart. But when the cards and casseroles stopped arriving I wondered how he would get by in an empty house. Was I going to find him glued to the couch with his ubiquitous white undershirt stained red from pasta sauce?  Thankfully, I never did. Instead, he successfully reinvented himself; becoming a star of the Monterey Peninsula, a social butterfly, and a first-class Geez-about-town.

This week I heard a radio commentary from character-guru Michael Josephson talking about how a dad cannot be a friend to his children. He said that, “a father who tries to be a best friend can’t be a real father. To be a friend is voluntary. It’s an option. To be a father is a privilege, but above all it’s a moral obligation.” I agree with this. But there comes a time when a Father’s role is lessened to a degree. Maybe it’s when the child goes off to college, or gets married, or has children of his own. I think it’s possible at this time for a father to become a friend. In fact, I know it’s possible, because it’s true in my own life.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. And when you’re done reading this, feel free to resume your daily routine of napping, cursing, and belching.