Father’s Day

So here are some early meditations for Father’s Day.

I have a good dad.  For all his faults, he’s all right.  I’ll leave mum’s complaints with mum, as those are basically relationship related, and they really need to work those out for themselves.

He isn’t like some other dads.  He went to work and still put in a good day’s work effort, even when he was sick and near death, because he felt he had to.  I learned this work ethic.  We both dream of becoming suddenly flush with cash.  But I go to work every day because it’s my habit, and because Mrs. M kicks my butt out of bed Monday through Friday.

As far as I want to know, he didn’t, and doesn’t tramp around like some other dads. He is a terrible flirt.  By that I mean he’s bad at it.  It’s painful to watch him try to interact with other ladies.  But somehow he won mum, and she’s stayed all these years.  He does have a great smile.  And I must have inherited that, but sadly, I’m a terrible flirt.  By that I mean I’m horrible at it.  I can say whatever I want, but I always put Mrs. M. out there in first place.  Ladies, I’m sorry for being a terrible flirt.  And I’m sorry my brutal honesty about your beauty and talent as writers, and my dashing good looks, steel blue eyes, and rakish smile won your attention in the first place.  I’m set in my ways and I’m bringing it home to Mrs. M, no matter what I say about how our relationship is going.  I’m fighting for her even when I want to throw up my hands in defeat.

He isn’t abusive like some other dads.  The very idea of attacking my wife, or worse, my daughter, or son, disgusts me.  In fact, if I were bequested with super powers, I would vigorously defend abused children and women, quite literally to the death.  Of the attackers.  Because fuck that.  No one deserves to be beaten, raped, cheated, robbed, or abandoned.

He isn’t good with tools, but he’s picked up a few things along the way.  I am no good with tools.  I hate plumbing and faulty water things in general, but I am learning.  I’ve succeeded with simple things.  If it’s broke, I can fix it, unless it’s on the cars.  It may fall apart again (mumble, grumble, grumblefuck), but I can do it.  I don’t have the money, but I have the knowledge.  So, for Father’s Day, I want a winning lottery ticket so I can go to the hardware store and buy whatever I need to fix whatever’s broken.  If it’s a BIG winning ticket, I’ll call “the guy “instead.  And have waffles with fruit and powdered sugar.

He may not have power, but he has common sense.  And he has passed this on to me as well.  When people don’t respond properly to common sense, and when things we fix fall apart, or other things that were working yesterday fall apart, I have learned certain linguistic skills from dad too.  I flipped the script on this one and try to use my vocabulary skill to encourage and build other people up, when they need encouraging.  Swearing:  It’s not just for a response to fucking idiots, criminals, and rage any more.  Dad, I’ll just go on record here saying you’re a fucking awesome father.

That’s my breakfast request for Father’s day.  And because Mrs. M MADE me a father, it should fall to her and the kids to treat me extra nicely, at least this one day of the year.  The kids can get me a card or something, whatever.  If they MAKE the card it’s still fine by me.  I’ll appreciate whatever happens.  Mrs. M knows what I want.  And I probably still won’t get it.  But at least there will be waffles.

Dad, you’ll never read this, because you don’t even have a computer.  How do you live?  In more peace of mind than I do, I bet.  But thanks, Dad, for being a great father, setting a great example, and teaching me to be a reasonably decent human being.

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