"It was a dark and stormy night"

Those of you who are "Peanut" fans will recognize the title as the first line of the book Snoopy would start writing on his doghouse.

Sunday was not a dark and stormy night but it was Father's Day. Now, I have always had a love-hate relationship with Father's Day as have many men. First, I think I am jealous of the attention that is paid to the women in my life on Mother's Day. They get taken out to eat, preacher always extol them in sermons, and gifts, they get such gifts and flowers as to be shameless in their excess.

Then Father's Day comes along, and its like opening a "past sell date" bottle of pop. There is no fizz and no sizzle. For years, I got the mandatory tie that often glowed in the dark. I only know of one local funeral director who would wear such a tie and only if it had a semi-nude girl on it. I thought that when I died, I would ask the presiding funeral director (not the one with the semi-nude tie) to put all those ties at my feet, so that no other man would risk receiving such a thing. But time passed and largely Father's Day was sort of another day with just a touch of fizz to let me know I was appreciated in a semi-fizzle sort of way.

I also join a host of other father's who feel guilty about their presence and perhaps their lack of presence when their children were growing up. For me, I was gone a lot, and in the second church worked six days a week, early morning till late at night. I was not there as I should have been. I made adjustments, and was more present, but still not like I should have been. So the gaudy, garish tie was a commentary to me on my fathering. So, Father's Day is both envy and guilt--what a day to look forward to!

In my older years, I have grown, I hope, a little wiser.

For the problem of envy, I started shopping for myself on Father's Day. This year,Father's Day started with a new sport's jacket, three new shirts, and a beautiful tie. I might be buried in it, not on it, if that time comes soon.

For the problem of guilt, I sit back and listen to my children. It helps more than they will ever know. Last year the whole flock, brood, herd,(whatever one calls such a group)was home and it was the best Father's Day ever. The grandchildren peed in my bed, we laughed and had fun, and cooked outdoors and it was super.

This year, it was just the three of us,(Anna, myself, and the youngest youngest child) but it was good. The oldest son called. He works several jobs but mainly he is a police officer. It is always good to hear from my children. The oldest youngest child called and sent presents: hence the title of this blog.

Joe(the child formerly known as Joseph and formerly the only youngest child)had sent his mother a hand decorated mug for Mother's Day. Joseph is an artist and a wonderful cartoonist. So, he sent his mother a huge mug with a black and white caricature of them on it. This year on Father's Day, I GOT A COLOR mug with a caricature on it! As we say in my family as one sticks one's tongue out, "Nanny, Nanny, boo, boo." It is usually followed by something like, "My gift is best!" So much for the envy.

However, the handle was broken, but the caricature was priceless. Joe has his arm draped over my shoulder in a male token of affection, while, when you turn the mug around, he is lifting my wallet.

Now, Joseph and I have always (until the last few years)had a stormy relationship. Everyone says it is because we are so much alike. I beg to differ. I think it is because he is so much darn smarter than I am that it brings out the worst in me. Before the words are even on my lips, he has anticipated them, and spoken the rebuttal. So many of our discussions were not discussions, but rather me sputtering, "But, but,but, but wait just a moment, slow down!"

However, this picture on the mug, brings back an ongoing conversation that Joseph and I had across the years of his youth. He would ask for money, I would say, "Where am I going to get that kind of money? Do you think I have a tree in the back yard that I go out and pick dollar bills off of?" To which he would reply, "Show me the tree and I can do it myself!" So, Joseph began to ask for money like this, "Dad, you know that tree in the back yard?" To which I would say, "What tree?" To which he would reply, "You know, the tree that grows money! Well, I need a little off it."

Fast forward a few years and Joseph is in Chiang Mai, Thailand and he has miscalculated his bank balance, so from half way around the world, Joseph(name change has not happened yet) I get this short e-mail: "Dad, have miscalculated my bank balance, am out of money, can you deposit some money in my account till I get paid."

Now I have to tell you that such a message could have said several things and not cut to the heart as deeply as that note. It could have read, "Being held by a band of renegade mobsters with low monetary expectations, please put $50 in my account for ransom. All I could see was my poor child homeless on the streets, half way around the world starving to death. Quite the opposite, he had a nice bachelor pad, transportation and a world of really cheap food. But, that was the note. So, I rush out and put some money in his account, and send the following message back, "Have gone out into the back yard and picked off a couple of leaves, you are safe for now!"

The response I get back is one sentence,(did I mention he was the IT guy for his office) "Thanks Dad, is that tree still alive?"

So, the mug tells the story. At the bottom of his box were two "Peanuts" books that he had found out shopping. He wanted me to have them for all the ones he and his brother destroyed. Enclosed was a deeply touching note(the best part) and what was left of the mug handle.

Then, in irony of ironies, James and his mother bought me a wallet with gift card in it. I had the fleeting thought, "I am so glad Joe is half a continent away!" But frankly, he is well past those years and the money now flows the other way.

So, it wasn't a dark and stormy night, it was a wonderful Father's Day. "Nanny, Nanny, Boo, Boo!"