Its father’s day. And while everyone is off celebrating the great dad or dads in their life, I dove head first into a marathon of the third season of Orange is the New Black.
Somewhere around episode six, while admiring Ruby Rose, I got an email from Hallmark. They wanted me to send my dad a card of celebration. I hit the delete button after watching the silly animation.
I’m the product of a single-parent. My mom raised me since day one in the house that she built. She provided for us both via her small business. I’ve been incredibly blessed to have a parent who has been such a formative figure in my life. And I’m probably not alone when it comes to having a single-parent be the biggest influence.
I take all wishes of “Happy Father’s Day” like a grain of salt. That’s been true since preschool or kindergarten when we’d make cards or macaroni art to pass to our dads on the upcoming Sunday.
My dad and I didn’t start talking until I was twenty-one. And since then our relationship hasn’t really changed.
I spent over twenty years of my life without a father. There wasn’t anyone for me to wish a “Happy Father’s Day” to. No one that made a very large impact. I had uncles around, but I didn’t get the lessons from them that I suppose a daughter would receive from her father.
We celebrated in our own way. My mom and I would make a grand dinner. Steak or ribs, maybe our family recipe of marinated fried chicken, rice, salad, and ice cream for dessert. We would plan meticulously for ourselves. After church we’d head home and have a late lunch/early dinner.
It was how we treated ourselves. Similar to Mother’s Day or my mom’s birthday, I usually found something to give her. This item tended to be some object she had spied at the hardware store for our garden.
We were two peas in a pod. And we couldn’t be happier with our relationship now.
For the most part, Father’s Day is just another Sunday.