Okay so it's almost a month past since Father's Day. However, I am a firm believer of, "better late than never". Or am I a firm believer of, "never say never"? Both, I'd say.
This year, I did what sisters, daughters, and mothers have been doing for years, I reminded my husband to call his father. He hasn't called yet. It is not at all a reflection of how he feels about his father, it's just one of those things guys aren't so good at doing. How many times have girlfriends complained: "He didn't even buy me a card."
In my opinion, it's a small token of appreciation and recognition to call your Dear Old on Fathers' Day. I always find time to send a card to my Dad, a stellar human being, and my best pal.
My Dad has always been my greatest fan. He's given me a wealth of life skills. My Dad was a cool dad before Bruce Willis or Will Smith made celeb parenting fashionable. Seems like wherever you turn, even in prestige parenting magazines, a Father's Day spread or editorial is more of what we gulp down like popcorn at a movie.
Silly, empty calorie articles titled "Dads we love" or "Hollywood Dads that spend time with their kids" when really it would be more aptly titled as "Dads, we think are hot and by all accounts are 'good Dads' as reported in People Magazine, we love". I mean really, Ashton Kutcher? Is he a "Dad" we love?
The list of Hollywood Daddies is an endless parade of toothy smiles and Abercrombie and Fitch paparazzi moments. Tasty, yes, but as filling as your chow mien, 30 minutes after the fact. How many times do we have to see Jude Law in stylish, yet always rumpled clothes as he pushes a carriage in Hyde Park then sits on a bench to let his brood play, while he calls his agent or the bank to check on his savings? With a bevy of nannies not far behind with the children's diapers, wet naps, snacks, personal cell phones and Ipods.
Our fathers came home smelling of work. Hard work. And that hard work didn't involve memorizing lines or faking emotion. Work often begetting a stunning vocabulary of foul words. Words expertly used to describe unscrupulous employers, crappy wages, lazy co-workers, and bad drivers on their way home to us. Dads that know what it's like to eat a warm tuna sandwich out of a lunchbox with a Mac apple for dessert and lukewarm coffee for their ten-minute lull between backbreaking work. That was my kind of Dad. Be it blue or white collars, Dads deserve that ugly tie we buy them, each and every year. Dad deserves our thanks. No matter how much they don't want you to make a fuss or evoke any warm fuzzy feelings in them. They deserve that phone call. My father-in-law is similar to my Dad, indeed. They are the same age and from the same times. They've known the same hardships in life, in education and jobs. They watched the world pick up it's socks after World War II, they danced to rock and roll and drank ale in what was called a "beer parlour", they married the first woman they fell in love with, and are still married to her now. They deserve our respect! A phone call is not too much to ask. They don't care if you wrap their box of Old Spice or not. Newspaper and a string will do. It's the thought that counts.
Dads may not do all the other things Moms do. Maybe that's the best part of that traditional family mold. No one is too proud to do what they've determined is their job or role in their own families.
I asked my husband last night if he'd called his dad yet. Nope, he replied. I only do the reminder thang once. After a sibling lifetime with my brother saying, "Hey, you buy Dad's; Birthday, Christmas, Valentines, Halloweens, Father's Day, and Retirement gift and card, and I'll give you 10 bucks" you determine when it's time to let the man call the man. Himself.
Next year, we all can do a little better for Dad. Father's Day is the THIRD SUNDAY IN JUNE. Repeat. Repeat. And while I am lucky enough to have this chance, Happy Father's Day Nonno! Our sentiment, truly, better late than never.
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