Happy Father’s Day

I had a lovely Father’s day last Sunday.

I guess I knew Father’s Day was coming, but all I felt was a vague sense that I was supposed to do something. I wondered what. But then I remembered: call my father. But it’s not Father’s day in Canada. It happens on a different day over there, doesn’t it? (Rationalizing can be useful. What guilt?)

But when I woke up Sharon said to me, “Happy Father’s Day! What would you like for breakfast?”

I hadn’t realized – it was my first father’s day! Me, a dad!

I got my favourite breakfast (cream cheese, lox and onion on a toasted bagel) and later on a nice steak for dinner. Not bad, eh? I tried to remember what I’d done for Sharon on Mother’s day… I couldn’t. She reminded me: I was hungover and useless. I’d been out the night before, wetting the baby’s head. All I could manage was a pathetic back rub.

But that’s not all. After what seemed like hours locked away in the living room, Sharon and Bruce presented me with this card.

The footprint is easy to make out; the unrecognizable glob on the left is his paw. (Apparently he wasn’t into the idea of flattening his hands).

He painted the inside all by himself. He clearly has talent.

Thanks Bruce. Thanks Sharon. That was totally unexpected. I guess this is for real now, eh?