Father's Day

I know it's a bit early, but I lost my Dad one year ago today, so it seemed appropriate. I apologize to those of you looking for something less maudlin to start your day (but it's my blog, so deal with it.) JS



Father’s Day has been a most transitional holiday for me throughout my life. Not merely that the date changes to coincide with a certain convenient Sunday in June – it doesn’t really matter WHEN it is, I am talking about WHAT it is.

As a child, Father’s Day was the day that we all did whatever Dad wanted to do. All Dad ever really wanted to do was to be allowed to watch the ball game and eat something he liked. So, as usual, we did what Mom wanted, under the guise of “Dad’s special day” and we’d go out to eat and miss the game. We’d go to any place he chose, which was always Mom’s favorite place, and at the end of it all, he’d pay. He’d get presents, too. Shirts and books were always popular, since Dad read and he wore clothes. I’d make a home made card proclaiming “you are the bestest Dad in the whole world” and he’d make me feel as if it was the single greatest thing that anyone had ever done for him. At day’s end, he would thank all of us for our generosity and we’d tell him how much we loved him. We’d put another Father’s Day in the books, and forget about it for another year.

Things change. As a teenager, I vaguely remember blowing through whatever Father’s Day gaiety was had in a hurry to get to whatever it was that I really wanted to be doing on that Sunday. I no longer made him cards, and rarely remembered to buy one. Typically, I would use one that my mother had lying around and was blank inside – you know the kind; those non-holiday specific cards with a puppy on the front – and wrote my sentiments on the inside. At that point, I knew better than to write “bestest” although he’d have probably gotten a kick out of that. By then, my siblings were married and gone and for them Father’s Day was the mailing of a card and a gift. Usually a shirt or a book. Not everything changes. I would come home that evening from whatever it was that had occupied my time, say “Happy Father’s Day, Dad”, and I’d hear him say “Thanks, Honey” as I was passing through the television room on the way to my room where I’d stay for the balance of the night.

Things change. And so did Father’s Day. I got married. The love of my life happened to be a woman who had two young boys of her own. Insta-family! I adopted them in late October of the next year. Voila! Insta-Dad! Soon, we had another child, and I became a biological father. So what did I learn? Parenting is really hard! What I was starting to appreciate through all of this was my own father’s unbelievable patience. The meaning of Father’s Day had multiplied for me – now as a father myself, and as a son. Now I was the one getting the attention on Father’s Day. I got homemade cards. I got shirts. I got books.


Now Dad and I shared something. (Actually, he and I shared two things, since I was born on his birthday.) But now we shared fatherhood, too – we were members of that very special fraternity. Don’t get me wrong, I was always close to my Dad. We always had a lot to talk about – baseball, books, comedies...and now his grandchildren. My children! We shared a few Father’s Days when all of us went out and he and I missed the game together.

Things change. Dad died last June, five days before Father’s Day. Thirteen days before our birthday, for that matter. Two days after Dad died, my daughter, my baby, delivered her first child and our second grandchild. The wheel of life goes around and around. So Father’s Day last year was a day of overwhelming emotions. I missed Dad dearly and wished to have the chance to again tell him that I thought he was the bestest Dad in the whole world. There was a new father in the family, too. My son-in-law was the proud father of a beautiful baby boy and now it was my job to welcome him to the fatherhood fraternity.

Father’s Day now? It is a time to mourn and a time to celebrate. It is a time to remember our Dads and spend time with our kids. It’s the day when we stop and think, even if it’s just for a moment, about the sacrifice that our parents made for us. We say thank you in any way that we can to the people who stuck with us when we were our most difficult and somehow loved us anyway. We thank God for our fathers. We treasure the memories of fathers past. We appreciate watching our sons and son-in-laws as they carry on the traditions. Like missing the game. Dads miss a lot more than that. We realize that Dad died a little every time we did something for the first time and he missed it. But he still got up early the next day – and often stayed late – at a job he hated because that is what Dads do. Did your Dad coach your little league team? Have you thanked him for that?

Now Father’s Day is approaching again and I know that I will again miss my own Dad. I will take this special day to remember to be grateful for him. I will also spend part of this Father’s Day appreciating the father that my son-in-law is becoming and I will enjoy watching him play with his son. Instead of watching the game.

Is my journey through Father’s Day complete? No way! I’ve seen Father’s Day from several angles. I remember sitting on my father’s lap. I remember my kids sitting on my lap. Now my grandkids sit on my lap. I watch my grandkids sit on my children’s laps. No matter how you look at it, if you really are lucky enough to have kids who appreciate and love you – every day is Father’s Day. And if your Dad is with my Dad, I hope they are watching the game.

Jon Sherman


Author’s Note: One of my boys, Michael, the oldest, still sends me a Father’s Day Card on October 29, every year. For the last twenty-five years, he has never forgotten to wish me a Happy Father’s Day on that day. He doesn’t miss the June one, either, but, as he reminds me annually, it is a lot harder to find a good Father’s Day Card in October. Anybody can find one in June. Michael makes me feel very special by remembering “adoption day,” as he calls it. He never fails to let me know that he appreciates me – and I am so grateful to have him for a son.