Roger Durham inherits his dad’s Father’s Day routine—and it’s perfect.
Father’s Day has not been the same since my dad died. As obvious as that sounds, it surprises me every year when the third Sunday in June rolls around. My dad never expected much out of Father’s Day—it was a lot like every other Sunday.
When I was a kid, we would go to church, then to a swim meet, then home for burgers on the grill. My brothers and sister and I would give Dad our cards and gifts, then Dad would end up in front of the TV, falling asleep while watching the end of the U.S. Open golf tournament.
As we got older, the routine shifted, but not much. We were done with swim meets, so we would spend the early afternoon at the track—Churchill Downs—betting on the horses. It was one of my dad’s simple pleasures. The rest of the day followed the pattern of the years—burgers, gifts, and the U.S. Open. You could script it ahead of time and not miss the story line by much. He liked routine, my dad. And we liked that he liked routine. It made Father’s Day straightforward, and easy to plan.
Gifts were easy, too—books and golf balls. That’s all he ever wanted. We knew he would appreciate and use them. He was a simple man, and we liked it that way. He was easy to please, and hard to disappoint.
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Dad died eight years ago, in the February of my 42nd year. As a father of two sons and a step-father of another, that was the first year that Father’s Day was all about me, and I wasn’t fully prepared. My sons were great. They spent the day with me, which was no small sacrifice.
They were living back and forth between their mother’s house and mine. They had the frenetic social lives typical of teenage boys. They had plenty they could have been doing, but they spent the afternoon with me—and I loved every minute of it. Since their mom and I divorced, I only got to spend half-time with them as they grew up, so I cherished every moment.
That Father’s Day, as different as it was, felt very familiar. We decided to go to Churchill Downs. We studied the racing form like we knew what we were doing. We went to the paddock to watch the horses being saddled. We compared notes, then placed our bets and hurried back to our box before the horses reached the starting gate.
When the gates opened and horses burst out in an explosion of hooves and dirt and color and sweat, we cheered like lunatics—as if our crazed cajoling could influence the finish. We high-fived each other when we had the winners, and recounted the bets we should have made—almost made—when our horses finished outside of the money. It was a great day with my boys. From the track, we went home to grill burgers, open gifts, and then watch the final holes of the U.S. Open, as I had done so many times with my father. One difference: I didn’t fall asleep.
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It was the perfect Father’s Day—until they had to leave. Friends were calling, and plans were unfolding. I thanked them, hugged them, and told them how much I loved being their father. As they pulled out of the driveway, I sat down and cried my eyes dry, grieving the passage of time. I wondered how life could have changed so dramatically around me, wished my boys could live full-time at home with me, and missed my father. I wanted to give him a hug and tell him I love him. Had I done that last Father’s Day? I wasn’t sure.
Now my boys are young men. One lives in town. One doesn’t. Both are working. My stepson is still in school. Two are single. The oldest is getting married at the end of the month. Before long, they will all join me in the fraternity of fatherhood. I want that for them, when the time is right. I hope they get to cradle a young life in their arms and dream big dreams for their own son or daughter.
I want them to know what it is like to look into the eyes of a child and see those big dreams smiling back at them. I want them to feel the tug of the invisible string of DNA, and the more powerful bond of emotion that nourishes the child as surely as the umbilical cord had nourished it in the womb. I want them to know what it is like to love so uncontrollably and unconditionally. It’s a marvelous gift, being a Dad.
Ric,
Thanks for your kind words. I am building a blog, currently, but you can find me through the scribd and twitter links above, for now. I enjoy reading your work as well. Keep it going, man. I will look forward to staying in touch through GMP.
Roger,
We’ve exchanged some comments regarding previous posts we’ve both had on The Good Men Project (dating to “the early days” of the blog) and I just wanted to let you know how much I enjoy your writing. From this Father’s Day post to “Lefty’s Win Was Right”, “The Loss of Leisure”, and others, I keep finding myself sharing your stuff with others. Do you have a blog or web site I could link to? I plan to keep following you through GMP as well.
Keep up the good work!
Ric
“To love so uncontrollably and unconditionally…” Such a great description of parenting.