Sunday was Father’s Day. It was the 5th time that you and I had the chance to celebrate the occasion of me serving in the role of dad and you as son.
I must tell you how pleased I was to receive the coffee mug you made for me in your art class. I was a little less thrilled by the punch in the throat and the fart you left under the covers of the bed. Still, your gifts are always meaningful.
For your part, I hope that you enjoyed the advice I offered on Father’s Day as well as every, single other day of your life. As my own father demonstrated to me, fatherly advice will not have its intended effect unless it is drilled into the head of the recipient ad nauseum. Accordingly, I hope that you are sufficiently ad naseuous with advice from me.
Beyond that, it was so very good to spend the whole day together. I particularly enjoyed watching your choice of cartoons without having to resort to my choices of what to view. Why go with what you like when you can be subjected to animated pablum for the younger generation, I always say. So, thank you for that special treat.
I also really got a kick out of making you a veritable medley of foods that you didn’t enjoy. Some might have found that irritating. I, however, found it refreshing, as it showed to me clearly and in stark relief that you are your own man, which is laudable (albeit sometimes rather annoying).
The other really nice feature of the day was being able to sit by the pool to watch you swim. It’s remarkable how adroit a little fish you’ve become, and it was my absolute delight to sit there in 90+ degree and 90+ percent humidity to watch you in action for hours on end, even if it did result in the sunburn on my face and arms, and my loss of 20 pounds in water weight.
And, of course, it was extra special that we got to spend the day with my dad, your grandfather, who you were kind enough not to speak to (a brilliant tactical move that would avoid him — a man with profound hearing loss — the embarrassment of having to say he couldn’t hear you). Yes, some might say you should talk to your grandparents, but honestly how many times can you smile, laugh and say “good one” to the same story over and over and over. Your choice not to speak to him at all thus saved us all that awkward moment.
Finally, I want to thank you for being my son. Without you, I couldn’t be your father. I know that seems like a tautology (a concept you’ll learn more about in high school, if you ever put down your iPad long enough to learn sufficient information to graduate from grammar school), but as with all tautologies, its elegance is in its truth. I love being your dad, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the World, especially not being your son (which would be weird because then I’d be almost two feet taller than my own father and older than him by 44 years).
All the best to you!