Papa lasagna

This is the first of my two part post on Father’s Day, aptly split between commentary about my father and being a father.

What do you get for the man who has everything on Father’s Day?

Now he would probably debate whether or not he has everything, but materially, my dad has never been one to demand the top of the line swag.  Sure he likes nice stuff, mostly fishing equipment and golf clubs (and a spectacular cottage), but he is not a flashy dresser, does not have a flashy car or watch, and his shoes vary between slip on Birks or the classic aging ease of Velcro sneakers.  He likes his blended scotch on the rocks (not too many) with a little bit of water.  He likes the idea of a lot of people around at once, but also very much revels in his alone time.  He is a putterer, an afternoon napper and constantly teeters the line between intellectual and goofball.  And I love him very much.

He has lived an interesting life, but thankfully he has found his groove. He is married to a wonderfully, giving woman and they have found a little bit of space affords a whole lot of appreciation. Luxury of retirement time I guess. When time is more affordable, you need to balance the potentially incessant spend together with a little bit of space. My dad has found that balance it seems. And with his spotty marital track record, we all are very glad for this continued success.

So I love my father.  I am fortunate to be able to say this as some struggle with their paternal relationships.  He never made it that easy to love him – the squinty condescending bastard – but I can easily count five significant times in my life that I truly felt lucky to have him in my life.  And now I will try to write them without bawling my eyes out.

• When I fouled out of my house league basketball championship game, up one point with six seconds to go.  As the local rule stated the other team could only guard us once we reached half court, our guard just dribbled in the back court, letting time expire, allowing us to win it all with me thinking we were going to lose. He knew to do that and I loved him and was so proud he was my dad at that moment.  Seems silly now, but even sillier than I am welling up thinking about it.
• His mock trivia games on long car rides when he would ask my sister and me random questions, and out of nowhere scream “Bonus! Bonus! Bonus!”  Making up the game as he went along.  We loved it and couldn’t wait for the bonus.  Even when we knew it was coming.
• That even through all the women, he still truly believes in love.  Not good at it mind you, but still totally believes in it.  Not sure where the lesson is there, but I still dig it.
• He was the king at making waitresses enjoy at least one table on one particular shift on that particular day.  And size of tip had nothing to do with it.

Finally and most current, that through the divorce and the occasional disappearances, he found a way back in our lives. From St. Catharines to Argentina to Austin to Virginia to Dorset to Toronto/Muskoka.  He is here.  Took awhile and it’s not perfect, but he’s here, up north, building something, drinking something else, waiting for us to all to arrive.

My boys love who is and know who he isn’t.  I can deal with that.

So for the man who has almost everything, there is no card, no wow socks, no tie required.

Just this.  Your son, doing what he loves to do. Writing about the people he loves.

Happy Father’s Day.