Father’s Day is for memories.
Your mind goes back to the man who gave you this life.
Sweet, some. Bittersweet, some. How did you feel about Father’s Day, dad? Pop Pop passed when he was hardly 50, you were barely 30 and I was yet to reach my teens. I don’t remember the three of us ever having a good sit-down about the reaches of this day. Perhaps you two did when I was hanging out in the background doing kid things. You and I had other life talks at various volumes before you passed too soon in your mid-60s. You were a philosophical one. As I get up there, please know that the ruminating gene lives on.
Your mind goes less back to the one you gave life.
I spent a good part of yesterday with my terrific daughter Elisabeth and her sensational significant George Three and his parents at the Syracuse Chiefs game. We sat comfortably in the stands enjoying our time in a peaceful, easy way. Life in their late twenty’s is good. Knock on wood. I am a happy father to know what good people they are. Jobs, family, friends, check, as the conversation flowed. Contented sigh here.
Happy Father’s Day to all.