Recently we were vacationing at Ponce Inlet, Florida just south of Daytona Beach. It is a beautiful area. We love the beach and were staying in a beach-front condo. We had a spectacular view of the ocean. I slept with the window cracked open a little just to hear the waves breaking. I woke up early and jogged and walked on the beach. There is a jetty about 4 miles south of where we stayed where surfers and fishermen gather. A few days I made that 8 mile round trip walking and running.
We were here on Father’s day. We got up that morning and went to church at FBC Port Orange. It is a very traditional congregation. They were exceptionally warm and loving to us. It was a little bit of a trying morning (Sunday mornings often are). I had a tense exchange with my daughter, plus NOBODY even mentioned that it was Father’s Day. I thought, “What is this junk? Do they even love me?”
We sat together close to the back of the church and the pastor wished all the fathers a happy Father’s day. I sat there feeling a little sorry for myself as my children had their “Aha” moment. The minister’s message seemed tailored to defuse the tension between my daughter and me. I thanked him afterward and Emy (my daughter) and I hugged and reconciled in the church foyer.
Afterward my family gave me my Father’s day greetings and took me to Chili’s, which is one of my favorite places for lunch. Following that we went to Books-A-Million and hung out for a while (again, one of my favorite places). I have to confess: I was still more than a little self-indulgent and miffed that so little had been made of Father’s day by my family. My children went and walked around the Mall a while, and my son came back with a shirt he had bought for himself. “Where in the heck is my shirt?” I wondered out loud to my wife, “Or at least a darn card,” I think I added.
I got up and went to the restroom, and when I returned I could see some kind of conspiracy forming as JB (my son) was whispering back and forth with Frankie (my wife). He got up and I told Frankie, “I would rather have nothing than you scheme and instigate in order for me to get a Father’s day gift. Are these the people that will choose my nursing home one day? Boy am I in trouble.” As it turned out, the kids were wandering around the mall trying to figure out what to do for me, when they texted their mom who told them I was going to buy a book, so just come and get me a gift card at Books-A-Million.
Boy, my righteous indignation and sense of fatherly deprivation were peaked earlier that day. As we drove away from the Volusia Mall in Daytona, my son asked, “Dad, what did you get your father for Father’s day?” I answered, “Der, der, der.” I had called my dad earlier in the week, but I hadn’t called him on Father’s day, and as yet I hadn’t gotten him anything. All the fight drained out of me instantly as I realized that I was being as big an ingrate to my dad as I felt my own children had been to me—bigger, really. I was instantly reminded of why it is that being judgmental and hyper-critical of other people is such a lousy idea: it is that usually, if I look closely enough, I can find myself doing the same thing in some way. Happy Father’s day.
We were here on Father’s day. We got up that morning and went to church at FBC Port Orange. It is a very traditional congregation. They were exceptionally warm and loving to us. It was a little bit of a trying morning (Sunday mornings often are). I had a tense exchange with my daughter, plus NOBODY even mentioned that it was Father’s Day. I thought, “What is this junk? Do they even love me?”
We sat together close to the back of the church and the pastor wished all the fathers a happy Father’s day. I sat there feeling a little sorry for myself as my children had their “Aha” moment. The minister’s message seemed tailored to defuse the tension between my daughter and me. I thanked him afterward and Emy (my daughter) and I hugged and reconciled in the church foyer.
Afterward my family gave me my Father’s day greetings and took me to Chili’s, which is one of my favorite places for lunch. Following that we went to Books-A-Million and hung out for a while (again, one of my favorite places). I have to confess: I was still more than a little self-indulgent and miffed that so little had been made of Father’s day by my family. My children went and walked around the Mall a while, and my son came back with a shirt he had bought for himself. “Where in the heck is my shirt?” I wondered out loud to my wife, “Or at least a darn card,” I think I added.
I got up and went to the restroom, and when I returned I could see some kind of conspiracy forming as JB (my son) was whispering back and forth with Frankie (my wife). He got up and I told Frankie, “I would rather have nothing than you scheme and instigate in order for me to get a Father’s day gift. Are these the people that will choose my nursing home one day? Boy am I in trouble.” As it turned out, the kids were wandering around the mall trying to figure out what to do for me, when they texted their mom who told them I was going to buy a book, so just come and get me a gift card at Books-A-Million.
Boy, my righteous indignation and sense of fatherly deprivation were peaked earlier that day. As we drove away from the Volusia Mall in Daytona, my son asked, “Dad, what did you get your father for Father’s day?” I answered, “Der, der, der.” I had called my dad earlier in the week, but I hadn’t called him on Father’s day, and as yet I hadn’t gotten him anything. All the fight drained out of me instantly as I realized that I was being as big an ingrate to my dad as I felt my own children had been to me—bigger, really. I was instantly reminded of why it is that being judgmental and hyper-critical of other people is such a lousy idea: it is that usually, if I look closely enough, I can find myself doing the same thing in some way. Happy Father’s day.
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