As the Father’s Day weekend approaches once again, it’s time to remember all fathers, be they biological, grandfathers, father figures, favorite uncles, surrogates, and others that have played or continue to play a role. Here once again are some thoughts I expressed last year at this time, and back by request.
I often think of my father, a man left without his own at age three and left him nothing but a name, and who survived two stepfathers, one of whom he connected with for a short time, and one with whom he didn’t, and of consequence didn’t really have a model. He was an only child, and thus didn’t have any siblings with whom to share the experience. Considering that, he did remarkably well in the parent department, raising three of us with generosity. He wasn’t a demonstrably doting parent, but we knew that he loved and cared deeply about all of us. I had a personality closest to my mother’s, so he and I were perhaps closer than my brother or sister, because I understood him. Oh, yes. He loved them both, but my brother was a bit of a challenge, and my sister, the youngest, was the princess. When it came to managing his affairs later on, that became my role.
Enough sentiment – on to the hardcore Father’s Day rewards. I usually track the sale fliers in the newspapers, and one caught my eye. It was for a major retailer. Now, if I may be permitted, here’s the way these fliers with dad in mind should look. You start with the power tools. Ok, I know I’m from a different generation, and to be honest, I don’t even use many power tools. My late father-in-law did remarkable woodworking, with a fully equipped “shop” in the garage. A neighbor once remarked that it was “like living next to Home Depot.” I have what I need in that department – a hammer somewhere, several sets of screwdrivers scattered about, pliers in the kitchen drawer because, well, that’s where we’ll need them most. There’s an electric drill and a circular saw somewhere in the basement. Next in priority among sale items will be clothing, and as we’re honored in June, it will be stuff for the summer. Polo shirts, along with a variety of unspeakably ugly tropically themed items, or worse, camouflage, clothing. If I were to wear any them, let’s just say there would a lot of giggling and pointing.
The first sale insert I came across was incomprehensible. Electronic devices, like a half dozen different types of earbuds. Why do I need those? If I want to tune out Her Ladyship, I’ll go out to my back porch rocker or take a nap. I don’t need or want things stuck in my ears. There were other devices about which I know nothing. They looked like tiny flying saucers. Maybe they store information or connect me to something about which I don’t want to know. Truthfully, I’m a network television type of person in a world of “streaming”. Which, if my information is correct, has little to do with babbling brooks and nature. Then we come to watches. I have two very nice watches – what we used to call “wristwatches” back in the day. They are round, have two hands, and tell me the time. That’s all I expect from them. I replace the batteries when they stop. I don’t plug them into anything. These featured ones that tell me way, way too much. If I wanted to know my blood pressure, I go my doctor. Or now, my dentist and my eye doctor have this information too. I’m not overly concerned about the numbers of steps I’ve taken today. Too many are into the bedroom to get something, but I forget what when I get there, so I make the trip several times. Is that good? I should think so. I walk down to pick up the mail a couple of times a week – it’s about a half mile, so that to is good, right? I work in my gardens, using tools that should be advertised and on sale this week instead of those watches I won’t be able to operate. I’d get a blood pressure reading and think to myself, “Look at the time! I should be taking a nap.”
There are ads for men’s scents. What a variety. I personally rely on my deodorant to take care of that. Old Spice has done well by me nicely, at least I think it has, for many years now. Nobody has complained or walked away covering their nose. The only person I knew that used cologne was a lovely man that was our instrument rep when I was teaching. He’d come by every week to pick up instruments in need of repair, and bring back the ones that were fixed, along with assorted supplies. He was of the age of the shirt unbuttoned half way down and one or two gold chains. I always thought that was an unattractive look after about 35 or you’re the killer driving a town car in an episode of “Colombo”. But this was the golden age of colognes, and gentlemen of a certain age often smelled as though they bought it by the gallon.
I was interested to see a number of kitchen items in the flier. That’s an update too, and a sign of shifting times and interests. Curiously, it was labeled “His Hobbies”. Does that mean that when Mom cooks, it’s “survival”, but when Dad enters the kitchen, it’s a “hobby”? A few years ago, I read that a fast-food chain was, in some degree of innocence, trying to encourage a more gender-balanced work force, particularly at the top, so to recruit female chefs, they created the brilliant marketing program, “Great Women Belong in the Kitchen.” That created almost as much of a buzz as statues of Jefferson Davis. If you’re a frequent viewer of House Hunters, as my readers know I am, the wise real estate agent will ask “Who does the cooking?” and that will determine what’s needed for space, appliances, etc. On a side note, I’m always amused by those that need a high-end kitchen, but will at some point in the conversation admit that they don’t cook much. The kitchen is like a studio set – all for effect. Our friend, Lady Peacock’s is one of those. I usually joke that when she turns on the oven, there will be a spike and the electric company will do a wellness check. Like the watches, though, the kitchen section in the insert isn’t usually about mixers and toasters. No, no, it’s about supercharged crockpots and air friers. More technology that I’ll never understand, much less use. Even my beloved coffee has been swept up in new innovation. What is this “cold brew” that everyone’s talking about? It’s like White Zinfandel. It’s still Rose – you can’t fool me. And what makes “steel-cut” oats so much better?
Have a wonderful, perhaps celebratory weekend. Enjoy the Airpods, the fully equipped Man Caves, the latest gaming devices with back button attachment and senseless wireless controller, the new watch with GPS that can stream movies and tell your cholesterol level, your new Manscaped Lawn Mower (which is actually a razor), double wall stainless steel travel tumbler, a crockpot that connects to the International Space Station, and maybe even a new pair of shorts or leaf-blowers. Even car vendors are gearing up for Father’s Day gift-giving. Does anyone, other than a Musk-in-law or a Bezos cousin actually give automobiles for a holiday gift? There was one particularly fanciful one last year where the guy gives his lady a puppy, and she rewards him with a great huge honking motorized monster four-by-four bursting through a snowbank. We don’t do that quite so much. Me? Herself has been ordering stuff for a couple of weeks now, with strict instructions not to look at them, so I carry them, eyes closed, to her closet. I try to accommodate her wish for a total surprise, but so far, it hasn’t met with much success, usually because the boxes have identifying labels and pictures, or Amazon sends the delivery notifications to my email. So, I’m just looking forward to time with Her Ladyship and the Princess, a good book and maybe a garden center gift certificate. Accompanied by the Princess’s instructions not to buy any houseplants because “we have too many.” That, as you know is utter foolishness – you can never have too many plants, and there will always be room in her bedroom, the Plant Room.
So, as we head into another Father’s Day weekend, best wishes and blessings to all Fathers, Grandfathers, Uncles, Father Figures, and Big Brothers not on reality tv.
I'm Thinking...No! 