We had just returned home from vacation late Saturday evening and I was toast. There were 27 pieces of luggage, sand toys and beach towels strewn around the living room and I felt like I had been hit by a Mac truck. Not from the exhaustion of traveling and the pending doom of laundry and unpacking, but from was my lack-luster attempt at ignoring the fact that Sunday was Father's Day. It finally hit me on Saturday at about 4 p.m. on Rt. 77 in West Virginia. I was admiring the countryside, the mountains and I was overwhelmed by the absence of my dad. The thought that I would not be able to tell him in person about our vacation, what we did, what we saw, what we ate and how the kids reacted to everything (he liked to know every detail)... that was exciting for him to hear what fun his kids had.
I knew that June 17th was coming. I'd been dreading it since November. True, it's just a Hallmark-invented holiday. However, real meaning has been attached to that day. Everyone wants to show pops a lotta love on his big day. Lowe's and Home Depot were practically out of gift cards. The tool section at Ace dwindled. Every restaurant in the metropolitan area of every state was jam-packed with wives and kids and siblings treating dear old dad to a big breakfast that morning. The discount store card departments had one or two b-list greetings left. I didn't enjoy a lunch hour picking out cards this year. I decided that Father's Day wasn't happening.
Then it was Sunday afternoon and it dawned on me that I am married and my boys have a dad and he needs to be celebrated. He's such a great guy, husband, father and was a great friend and son-in-law to my father.
Better late than never, the boys presented daddy with a home-made card and a drill that he had wanted.
It took all I had to walk into that store with toddler in tow and not completely lose it in while walking past the riding mowers and the gas grills. All things that remind me of my dad. Forever a lover of the outdoors - he will always be synonymous with clear sunny days, the smell of barbecue wafting through the neighborhood, teaching our oldest to jump off the diving board, setting up a camp site in my parents back yard for N and cooking s'mores.
For me, dad lives on in my childhood memories in fantastic vacations we took and the activities he and my mom planned for us - Disney, Toronto, Cape Cod, Cancun... to camping in PA with horse-back riding and navigating two canoes full of us without a clue (grandma was in canoe number 1).
More recent memories of pool parties and holiday dinners and Father's Days where we cooked for him (such an unusual occurrence) because his chef hat needed a little rest. Although he would never admit that. Cooking was such a passion for my dad.
I had to dig deep to allow myself to remember these things when all I wanted to do was to forget the sad feelings creeping up around me when I heard all the "Don't Forget Dad this Weekend" sale commercials on the radio. Now that I'm tuned in, Dad, you'll forever be my hero. Thank you for leaving a legacy of such wonderful memories.
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