Father’s Day
I don’t know why, but I often think about Father’s Day in 1996.
That was a weekend when I played in a softball tournament at the Strawberry Festival in North Collins. It was a two-day tourney and the team I was on just kept winning, and we just kept drinking beer, and laughing.
My sister came down to the park to let me know that pasta would be ready by 4:00, and that it was Father’s Day so we’d all be there.
We had a break in the games that allowed me to head home to eat, and I get a clear picture from that day...
...Dad was in the garage. The sauce was in the roaster. There were meatballs, ribs and chicken in the sauce.
My brothers, sisters, Mom and about ten other people filled the garage, and we were all talking, and laughing.
The Yankee game was on the television.
“There he is!” Dad yelled as I walked in. “My son finally showed up.”
“Happy Father’s Day,” I said.
“Just eat!” Dad said. “Rigatoni.”
Dad would’ve been 58 years old that year.
“Yankees are winning,” he called out.
Each year by June, he was really dark-skinned. I can still see the smile that covered his face that day...
...because that was an absolutely perfect day for him.
The garage filled with the people he loved.
The Yankees on.
Enough food for 50 people, if necessary.
Everyone stuffing themselves and telling him how great it was...
...cause his sauce was always perfect.
Of course I miss my Dad every day.
I have a photo of him in my bedroom and I look at it each day.
“Morning, Pop.”
You know what’s cool, though?
My kids certainly benefit because of Dad.
“You want a roast beef sandwich?” I asked Sam as soon as he walked in the door the other night.
Sandwiches are always better when Dad makes them.
Happy Father’s Day to all the proud Dad’s out there.
It’s a helluva’ job.
There’s a ton of work.
But it’s all worth it because when you do it right, your children carry it in their hearts for years and years and years and years.
I miss my Dad.
That was a weekend when I played in a softball tournament at the Strawberry Festival in North Collins. It was a two-day tourney and the team I was on just kept winning, and we just kept drinking beer, and laughing.
My sister came down to the park to let me know that pasta would be ready by 4:00, and that it was Father’s Day so we’d all be there.
We had a break in the games that allowed me to head home to eat, and I get a clear picture from that day...
...Dad was in the garage. The sauce was in the roaster. There were meatballs, ribs and chicken in the sauce.
My brothers, sisters, Mom and about ten other people filled the garage, and we were all talking, and laughing.
The Yankee game was on the television.
“There he is!” Dad yelled as I walked in. “My son finally showed up.”
“Happy Father’s Day,” I said.
“Just eat!” Dad said. “Rigatoni.”
Dad would’ve been 58 years old that year.
“Yankees are winning,” he called out.
Each year by June, he was really dark-skinned. I can still see the smile that covered his face that day...
...because that was an absolutely perfect day for him.
The garage filled with the people he loved.
The Yankees on.
Enough food for 50 people, if necessary.
Everyone stuffing themselves and telling him how great it was...
...cause his sauce was always perfect.
Of course I miss my Dad every day.
I have a photo of him in my bedroom and I look at it each day.
“Morning, Pop.”
You know what’s cool, though?
My kids certainly benefit because of Dad.
“You want a roast beef sandwich?” I asked Sam as soon as he walked in the door the other night.
Sandwiches are always better when Dad makes them.
Happy Father’s Day to all the proud Dad’s out there.
It’s a helluva’ job.
There’s a ton of work.
But it’s all worth it because when you do it right, your children carry it in their hearts for years and years and years and years.
I miss my Dad.
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