Father's Day 2011

Yesterday was Father’s Day and we spent the day with Vince’s dad and Vince’s sons and the rest of the clan. It was a houseful of men; some fathers, some sons, some both. The women were in a decided minority, but as I was expected to neither cook for nor serve the houseful of men, it was all good.

I’m not sure why this is, but Father’s Day generally involves the manly act of cooking meat on a grill. Fortunately, no one has ever accused me of being especially manly and I have no need to impress anyone with my burger flipping abilities. Besides, since the time I attempted to cook a steak on a gas grill when I nearly singed off my eyebrows, my involvement with the ol’ Weber has been pretty much non-existent.

So, with my eyebrows still firmly attached, I thoroughly enjoyed the day. Which was rather nice, considering it wasn’t “Jane’s Day.” No one gave me a card or a present. And that didn’t even bother me, although I confess that I love receiving cards and presents. Guess I’ll just have to wait until Jane’s Day, eh? Probably Hallmark is working on a new line of cards for that national holiday as we speak.

Why, no, I’m not delusional. Why do you ask?

No, but seriously. I did feel a little bad that I wasn’t able to spend Father’s Day with my own dad since he’s up at the Cape now. Instead, I called him. I sent him a card. And I attempted to find him a pair of slippers that he’s looking for. Apparently, they no longer make the same kind of men’s slippers like the ratty ones my dad has worn for decades. Go figure.

Shopping for my dad is a lesson in futility. I mean, this is my dad we’re talking about. He doesn’t need anything and there is nothing he says he wants. He’s not into electronic gadgets. He gets his books from the library. He already has a drawer full of socks. And he rarely wears ties anymore.

So I was pretty excited to have an actual goal in mind. Slippers? No problem.

Yeah, right.

You think women are tough to buy for? Please. Anything shiny or sparkly – and we’re good.

When you shop for the menfolk, you have to remember numbers for both pant length and pant width. Their shirts come with collar widths and sleeve lengths. Come on – that’s four numbers to remember if you’re just trying to buy a pair of pants and a nice shirt for him! Believe me, there is no way you can possibly guess that something will fit just by looking at it. So I’d need a cheat sheet before stepping foot in the men’s department.

Oh, and most importantly, you have to remember that to some men “polyester” is not a dirty word. Apparently, wrinkle-free is a major selling point. Any article of clothing that requires dry cleaning or ironing is not going into the shopping bag. Or, if a woman foolishly purchases something because (a) the numbers are all correct and (b) it looks nice – but she fails to recognize that ironing or dry cleaning will be required – then back to the store it will go.

Actually, now that I think about it, this is probably a good thing. I, for one, cannot remember the last time I ironed something for myself, let alone for anyone of the male persuasion. I’m not even sure my iron still works…and I’m not all that anxious to find out.

Donna Reed, I’m not.

So, sadly, my dad didn’t have a gift from me to open on Father’s Day. But since I did spend last weekend driving my parents to Cape Cod, Dad probably thought that was present enough. And I did buy a Boston Cream Pie – his favorite – to celebrate Father’s Day a bit early.

The thing about dads is that they don’t really need an armful of gifts to know that their children love them. They just need to know that their kids are doing well and are trying their hardest. Whether it’s learning to ride a bike, or learning their lessons in school. Whether it’s excelling at their jobs, or excelling in their own roles as parents, dads everywhere just want the best for their children. They hope that the lessons they taught their kids have somehow been taken to heart. Unselfishly, they want their children to have a better life than they’ve had – even if their life has been a pretty good one.

And they’re happy even when their kids give them yet another tie or pair of socks for Father’s Day.

So to all the dads out there – I hope you had a wonderful Father’s Day. I hope you were able to spend the day with your children – young and old alike. I hope you didn’t singe off your eyebrows while you were manning the grill. And I really hope nobody gave you non-polyester pants that need to be ironed or dry cleaned.

To all of you who no longer have your dads here to wish a Happy Father’s Day, my heart goes out to you. I know you'd give anything to have the chance once again to buy your dad a Father's Day gift - even if they are impossible-to-find slippers.

But I'm guessing that that there are a whole lot of dads in heaven who are probably standing around a grill in wrinkle-free pants – and they’re sending their love back to you. They know how much you miss them and that you wish they were still here so you could spend the day with them. And they know you’re doing your best and that you’ve taken all the lessons they taught to heart.

Someday you’ll meet again and you’ll be able to tell them how you feel. But I suspect they already know.

And to all of you who have your dads here on this earth and you can still wrap your arms around him, I hope you take the opportunity as often as possible. Life, if you haven’t heard, is short. And you don’t want to regret lost opportunities.

And, finally, to my own dad – I hope you know how much I love you. Have you been the perfect dad? Well, mostly. But, um, I'm still a little fuzzy on that whole "compound interest" thing. And I always forget which direction you tighten a bolt. But mostly I think you're the best father this daughter could ever have asked for. I'm so blessed to be able to call you my dad.

Happy Father’s Day, dad. And...don't worry. I'm still lookin' for those slippers!

Weekend Update by Jane-You-Ignorant-… (If you know the last word, you used to watch Jane Curtin on SNL and you are old enough to read today’s blog.)

Well, the weekend was a resounding success and a great time was had by all at both the wedding in Cleveland on Saturday and the 80th birthday/Father’s Day cookout in Newark on Sunday.

Vince and I managed to get everything done prior to our departure on Saturday. At least I think we did. If we missed something, well, we really didn’t notice – so it probably wasn’t critical. And nobody ended up going “commando” – so I was happy that my list-making worked. For the most part.

Well, okay, so I did forget to pack my super-duper hair smoothing serum that should last me at least a year and cost more than the gross national product of a small, underdeveloped nation and, thus, not something I was interested in replacing for an overnight visit. I figured my hair was just going to have to frizz out if that’s what it wanted to do.

And while I packed both my deodorant and Vince’s, I didn’t check to see if there were sufficient quantities in each to get us through two day’s worth of application. If I had, I would’ve noticed I was on the very last dregs of my Fresh Scent Secret (“Strong enough for a man, but made for a woman”). Thus, I had to use Vince’s Right Guard on Sunday and probably smelled studly all day, but at least it was better than being, um, “aromatic.” Fortunately, I didn’t notice anyone giving me a wide berth at the cookout on Sunday. And it was a hot and sweaty day so, believe me, that Right Guard was certainly put to the test.

When we got to the hotel on Saturday, I checked in and was told that, as a Rewards Club member I was entitled to a free breakfast in the morning. The thing is I have absolutely no recollection of signing up as a Rewards Club member. But who am I to question a free breakfast? So I took the card and beat a hasty retreat toward the elevators lest the girl at the reservation desk realize that I wasn’t really entitled to a free breakfast (with an overpriced retail value of $11.99) and had the chance to snatch it back out of my hands.

For a woman, getting ready for a wedding is a lengthier process than, say, getting ready to go to dinner at Applebee’s. It takes me a minimum of an hour. We won’t even discuss how long it takes an actual bride to get ready for her wedding, but the process begins right around the same time the engagement ring is placed on her finger.

Nevertheless, I was merely a guest at this wedding, so an hour was all I needed. Only I didn’t get an hour. I had about 40 minutes. For you uninitiated to the world of women’s “special event” preparation, those 20 critical minutes are the difference between showing up fully coiffed, dressed with all zippers zipped, buttons buttoned and hooks hooked and ready to party – and arriving with nervous perspiration on the upper lip and forehead, lipstick applied crookedly, hair only half curled and smeared eyeliner on at least one eye.

And this was an outdoor wedding under the hot, relentless sun. I was doomed from the beginning!

Fortunately, I managed to get over my snotty When-I-Say-I-Need-An-Hour-To-Get-Ready-I-Don’t-Mean-40-Minutes attitude, and was able to enjoy the wedding. I enjoyed it even more that we had an hour and a half gap between the wedding and the reception.

We spent a few of those precious moments chatting with good friends I’ve known since college along with their “80-And-Change” mother, Mrs. B. Once upon a time this group would have used that hour and a half to head to a bar somewhere to indulge in a little before-dinner libation, but our friends had their kids with them and needed to bring them to the babysitter’s before the reception. Well, the kids, plus the baby deer they had in the back of their SUV. Yes, I’m serious. A baby deer. I’m still shaking my head. Only these friends… (Bambi had apparently been abandoned and wasn’t old enough to fend for itself, so our animal-loving friends were taking care of it until they could find an alternate care solution.)

So Vince and I went off on our own in a quest to find a place where I could indulge in a soothing glass of red wine. And while it wasn’t a fine dining experience complete with white linen tablecloths and a full wine list (or any wine list, for that matter!), at least the one type of red wine they served had an alcohol content higher than, say, Diet Coke. So I was happy. Plus, I was able to remedy the crooked lipstick and smeared eyeliner situations. Really couldn’t do much with the frizzy, half-curled hair thing, but then that was my own fault since I forgot my semi-precious hair smoothing serum.

Nevertheless, by the time we showed up at the reception I was back in a good mood and ready to party. And party we did! We were seated with my old college buddies and we all had a wonderful time. The photos may show a group of middle-aged people laughing and dancing like, well, middle-aged people, but we didn’t really care. We figured as long as none of us fell down and broke a hip, it was all good. Plus, the mother-of-the-bride was dancing right along with us, so we had no worries.

We discussed the possibility of heading out to a local bar after the reception to keep the good times going, but none of us managed to work up enough energy. Thus, like a bunch of Cinderellas (or middle-aged weenies), our evening ended before midnight.

This was probably a good thing because Vince and I had to be up-and-at-‘em bright and early the next morning. For one thing, we wanted to get our free buffet breakfast before they found out we weren’t really entitled to it. So at the crack of dawn (or 9AM – same thing), we made our way to the dining room in the hotel and enjoyed our overpriced lukewarm sausage and eggs and relatively fresh fruit and blueberry muffins. No, I kid. For the price we paid, it was some good eatin’!

We met up with our friends to say good-bye (which, with this group, requires a minimum of one hour), and then we headed for points north and our Sunday event.

I have one word for Sunday: HOT. I spent the first 45 minutes in the kitchen arranging food in serving bowls and making sure plates, napkins and utensils were at the ready for the hungry hordes once the steak and ribs were ready. Most of the time, however, I was digging through boxes and bags looking for a particular item the Grill Masters needed only to discover (a) they’d already found said item out by the grill and had neglected to inform me, or (b) they’d changed their minds and didn’t need whatever it was I was searching for anymore. Grrr.

By the time I came outside to the patio where everyone was gathered, I was hot, sweaty and completely wilted. And hot, sweaty and completely wilted I remained for the duration of the day (thank heavens for Right Guard, even if it did make me smell studly!). But we had a festive afternoon with helium-filled balloons, gaily wrapped packages and a memory book that we’d prepared for the birthday boy. So we enjoyed watching him look through it. And we enjoyed the food, the company and the conversation.

We ended the day full, happy, and sweaty – but we couldn’t have asked for a better day. Well, perhaps if I’d been able to use Fresh Scent Secret instead of Vince’s Right Guard, I wouldn’t have sweated like a man all day. But really, otherwise, it was great. And I didn’t have smeary eyeliner or crooked lipstick. Life is good. And, as Vince says, “It’s the little things…”

Father's Day

June 17, 2010
This has been a very hectic day – and this evening is going to be very hectic as well – so I decided to recycle a blog I wrote two years ago. It was right before Father’s Day. And, here we are, two years later – right before Father’s Day. I’m happy to say my dad’s health is good and my parents are at their cottage in Cape Cod enjoying the summer.

From June, 2008:
My parents are pretty amazing people. They're in their 80s and don't seem to know what "slowing down" means. They've trotted all over the globe, and in fact have made return treks to so many locales, we tease them and suggest that they've run out of places in the world to visit, so they must be starting over! Their one nod to Father Time is that they've begun taking cruises rather than organized tours of foreign countries since they only have to pack and unpack once.

At least once a week they deliver Meals on Wheels – sometimes to people younger than they. One time, a woman in her housecoat and slippers was sitting in her easy chair awaiting her prepared meal. When my mother came to the door to deliver it, the woman said, "Will you please bring it here, dear? I can't get up very easily. After all, I just celebrated my birthday and turned 77." To which my mom simply smiled and said, "Well, happy birthday – you look wonderful!" She then deposited the meal on the tray in front of the woman and continued on her rounds.

I won't say how old she was, but at the time Mom was several years older than this woman.

My family has been blessed to have our parents in our lives all these years and I try not to take their presence for granted. I do my best to call and visit them whenever I can because I know that one day in the not-so-distant future, I might wish I could pick up the phone to talk to them – and they won't be there. And I don't want to have any regrets just because I "meant" to call more often – or "would have" visited except that I had too much going on in my life at the time.

So, with that philosophy in mind, and despite the ever-rising gas prices, I gamely filled the tank to the tune of $52.65 the other week, hopped in my car, and drove the three hours to my parents' house. And, okay, I admit that for once I actually stuck to the speed limit in the meager attempt to conserve as much fuel as possible.

Shortly before my visit, Mom and Dad had returned from their third cruise of the year. They had a wonderful time, but both of them came back with colds. They were congested and coughing, but neither of them seemed to be particularly ill. We had a nice evening, sitting on the porch drinking wine, talking about our upcoming family vacation plans and listening to the birds perched in the 40-year-old trees in the backyard.

Early the next morning my mom shook me awake to tell me that my dad was having trouble breathing and she was taking him to the Emergency Room.

In a bit of a panic, I jumped up, threw on some clothes, and ran downstairs to head out the door. Dad, fully dressed, was standing in the kitchen putting all his daily heart medications into the little pill box he carries in his pocket. His hands were shaking, he was wheezing, and his face was absolutely grey. I was shaken by his appearance but I tried not to show my fear and asked him if I could help. He said, "Thanks, Jane, but I've got it." That's just my dad – always there, always calm and always able to handle things.

Within a few moments, we had him settled in the car and I drove the three of us to the hospital six minutes away. Dad's labored breathing sounded very loud in the silent car and I fought to stick to the speed limit. Nevertheless, I think I made it to the hospital in just under four minutes.

Dad was pretty quickly settled into a bed in the ER with an oxygen mask on his face while tests were performed to determine his condition. Diagnosed with pneumonia, he was admitted to the hospital. Because he has lived with heart disease and had suffered two heart attacks (the first one in his early 40s), has had bypass surgery, and a few years ago had a pacemaker implanted in his chest, the concern was that he could develop congestive heart failure.

While there were a couple rough days, Dad finally responded to the IV antibiotics, breathing treatments and other medication, and was discharged six days later. And then the rest of us were finally able to breathe a little easier, as well.

With Father's Day coming up on Sunday, I'd like to take a moment to pay tribute to my Dad.

He's an incredible man and has been an amazing influence on my life. He's one of the quietest people you'd ever meet, but he's kind and caring, and is – quite simply – an honorable man. His primary focus has always been taking care of his family. And he has always been there if we need him, whether it's for advice or to fix a leaky faucet. And when he does speak, we know it's because he has something important to say. One of my greatest joys is being able to make my dad laugh!

He has dealt with health issues for many years, but he quietly endures the pain and discomfort without complaint, and then gets up to begin another day. He is truly an inspiration.

And, even though Mother's Day has come and gone this year, I have to add that Mom is pretty inspirational herself. She has a lot of strength packed into her 5'2" body because she is the one, after all, who has been there getting Dad through every one of his health crises through the years. If not for her, I suspect that Dad might not be here with us today. He may have grumbled a little when he was denied that bowl of ice cream or second cookie…but he knows she's looking out for him and wants him to be healthy enough to go on that next cruise.

My parents are modest and unassuming people and this little 'tribute' would embarrass them, so I suspect I will never show it to them. They lead by example and don't talk about their accomplishments.

I hope they know how much I love and admire them. And I do. I'm very grateful to be their daughter.

To all the Fathers out there, you have more of an impact on your children's lives than you can ever know. Your children love you – even if they don't say it all the time – and they need you. Thank you for all that you do.

Happy Father's Day!