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Fathers Day Raincheck

My first Father's Day didn't really count; Emma was three months old, and at that time that you could have told me I had won the lottery and it probably wouldn't have penetrated my bliss-riddled skull. I was hardly sleeping at all, as much from excitement as from Emma waking up, with the result that things had never seemed so silly to me since I was a freshman in college and we went to that party with the really funny-tasting punch.

About twelve months later, with the concept of fatherhood finally beginning to establish a foothold in my brain, I was alone on Father's Day. Julia and Emma were out of the state, combining business with pleasure by attending a conference and visiting with family.

Even though I was all alone, knocking around the house on Father's Day, I didn't feel left out. The date itself doesn't hold much meaning for me, since I come from a family where these kinds of specifics are not very important. It isn't that I can't remember birthdays and other important dates, it's just that I have trouble connecting this knowledge with the fact of physical existence on that particular day, which creates conversations like this:

Julia: Isn't it your father's birthday today?
Me: No.
Julia: Isn't his birthday the twelfth?
Me: Yes.
Julia: Well, today is the twelfth.
Me: OK fine, if you're gonna nitpick ...

Predictably, I've become a master of the belated birthday gift. Sometimes they are so late I just pretend they're early for the next year, which sets the dangerous precedent of being on top of things.

When I told a friend of mine I was alone, he claimed that the only purpose of Fathers Day is to allow your family to relieve their guilt for the way they treat you the rest of the year, and so it was just as well they were out of town. He figured I could save it up for a rainy day.

I did a load of laundry, and since I was temporarily a swingin' bachelor again, I got a little wild and mixed my whites and my colors. In between cycles, I watched a baseball game on the tube. When Julia called to wish me a happy Father's Day I probably sounded wistful and distant, when in fact I was scrutinizing an instant replay ... the second-base umpire had definitely blown the call on the double-play pivot ...

It didn't occur to me until later that it might have made her feel rotten, so I was unprepared for the windfall of attention and affection upon their return. Turned out we celebrated a belated Fathers Day this weekend. They took me out to see the Giants-Dodgers game.

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© Todd Pinsky 1998-2002. All rights reserved.