With all respect to Matt, I could do without Father’s Day, at least on my behalf (as opposed to my dad’s, that is; he deserves any recognition he can get and then some).
It kinda snuck up on me, which is surprising–one year in, and I’m already jaded? But I guess I don’t particularly care about having a Day. As I’ve mentioned here, my wife and I took a pretty casual approach to Mother’s Day: just spent time with her and my own mom, pretty much, and both mothers asked us to skip present-giving. This time, we headed to my in-laws’, which–I am incredibly grateful to say–is always a pleasant experience. So the special celebration, such as it is, was just the usual dose of weekend daddytime. (Though my wife did bring me a bag of treats from the unbeatable Doughnut Plant.) When he’s old enough to make a little arts-and-crafts project at school, I will happily tack it up over my desk. Till then, everyone’s getting a bye.
Am I just being sour? Maybe a little. I should be giddy–I’m a dad! This is my Day! And who says no to a nice meal?–but honestly, the major life force I feel during this stage of parenthood is being a little overbooked, all the time. I am an enthusiastic parent, and my son is a sweet little guy to be around, and god knows I could not be happier that he’s here. But the fact remains that I am always playing catchup: on sleep, on housework, on work-work, on everything else. Adding another holiday into the mix, even if it’s meant to commemorate me, is just … one more commitment. If I were to spend the afternoon relaxing with a beer on the patio I don’t have, it’d just dump even more caretaking than usual on my wife, and anyway, I’d probably spend the evening doing double-duty, catching up on everything I’d ignored all day.
Call me a churl, write me off as a grouch, but the best celebration, at this moment in my life, is not taking time out to celebrate. Maybe when he’s old enough to join me with that beer, it’ll be actual fun.