I’ve Had My Day

SHERWOOD KIRALY

This Sunday might be fine. Might be nice. Might be sunny.

But it won’t be like last Sunday. I was somebody then.

Last weekend I got preferential treatment and of course I had it

coming, because I’m a father and that’s all you have to be on

Father’s Day. There were moments during the day when I doubted I’d

done enough to deserve such treatment, but then I would reflect that

it wasn’t World’s Best Father’s Day, or Most Consistently Nurturing

Father’s Day; it was just Father’s Day, and I qualified.

I won’t go into the back story on how I came to qualify, but as

regards my parenting style I will state that, in addition to studying

my own dad, I took my role models from television, particularly Rob

Petrie of “The Dick Van Dyke Show” and Lucas McCain, “The Rifleman.”

Rob used to fall down and Lucas had a tendency to shoot his way out

of trouble, but aside from that they were reasonable and responsible,

qualities I’ve always found admirable, if elusive.

Most fathers, I suspect, aren’t all that sure how good at it they

are.

Physically, we start out as giants and get shorter every year. We

start two of every three sentences with “Don’t.” We greet our

daughter’s male friends without warmth. We don’t want to get up and

play as often as we should.

We give our children advice based on years of experience -- advice

handed down and ignored from generation to generation. As an

experiment, I asked Katie the other day if she could remember

anything I’d ever said to her. It was watching her really try that

got me down.

We know the mothers do more to raise the children than we do, and

we suspect the children do more, as well.

On the plus side, we carry. We drop off and pick up. We applaud.

We invent games involving double takes and anthropomorphic dialogue.

We sit in the passenger seat and say, “That was good, but you’re

shaving the parked cars a little close.” We read aloud. We volley for

serve.

None of it’s terribly impressive -- there’s a reason Mother’s Day

comes first -- but we’re in there trying, ready and willing to

shoulder about 37% of the burden.

My family treated me awfully well on Sunday. I got to go to the

races. When I got home I got two entrees, a phone call from my son

and a card-with-custom-made”sappy”-poem from my daughter. I got some

books, too. And if I didn’t deserve all of it, well, I was lucky at

the races, too.