How Fathers Really Spend Father's Day

I've always seen Father's Day as a holiday that loomed in the distant shadows as Mother's Day basked gloriously with flowers in the bright sun. And with good reason. Let's face it, Father's Day exists for the same reason that even the sluggish losers have to get picked when assembling a kickball team in fifth grade - to make everyone feel good about themselves (and more accurately, so no one can complain). But what inevitably happens is someone gets picked last and feels shitty anyway. Idea: backfired.So today I thought I would talk a little bit about what I actually did to "relax and enjoy my day"....on Father's Day.

My Father's Day celebration started practically when the clock struck 12:00 AM! My younger son Nate woke me up with a siren wail-like cry at about 12:30. I was feeling lazy and unmotivated so I just brought him into the bed with us. He then proceeded to make me regret that decision by sitting up, falling backward head-first into my face, then Sonia's face, then repeating the action.Sonia and I thought we'd extinguish the onslaught by taking turns holding him in our arms, but he bit our breasts, respectively, topping off the attack with a menacing giggle. We found out in the morning that he actually had coxsackie virus, which would explain the crying, whining and non-sleepiness. It doesn't, however, explain the head butts and the booby bites. That was just him being an opportunistic jerk.

            The reason this is animated is because I couldn't find a picture of myself in a chair.

So after sleeping less than two hours Saturday into Sunday, we prepared to host my father, stepmother, sister, brother-in-law and niece and nephew. Naturally, the one time we're hosting a holiday, we slept like meth addicts. And since it was a BBQ, I was responsible for manning the grill. But I use the term "manning" quite loosely. It was more like "boying" the grill, as I have absolutely no special skills that would separate my technique in front of a Weber 65011K from that of a child. Which would probably explain why I overcooked the shrimp and undercooked the chicken. For the record, I blame the overcooking part on Antonio having fallen off his chair and my leaving the grill to tend to him as he cried out for me. Kids are so self-centered.

Later in the day, I had to reprimand Antonio for sitting on top of my 10-month-old niece, Ella. Why did he sit on her, you ask? Well, because she had taken his coveted spot in his brother Nate's Radio Flyer wagon! Perfect sense, right? Anyway, I tried in vain to explain to a three-year-old how his argument was not based in logic or fairness. But that went nowhere faster than my attempt to impress girls with my sideburns in seventh grade.

In summary, life sucks and then you die.

Next year, I'm putting my foot down and spending the first half of Father's Day at the bowling alley. Then, I'll pick up takeout for dinner with minimal cleanup involved, followed by a nice, tall, undisturbed pint of beer. It will be incredible*.

* This proposed succession of events is fiction.There is no chance of this happening ever.

In truth, I did get a little choked up in church with the priest asked all the fathers to stand as he said a special prayer and thanked us for our commitment to our children and our sacrifices, etc. That is, until the reason for those sacrifices poked me in the groin and asked me when we were leaving.

Glad to be back writing again. I'm already a couple of chapters into my parenting book and intend to be done in a much more acceptable time than with book #1. I haven't run this plan past my kids, though, so....

Thanks for reading. Please feel free to share.

Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com