I Guess I Should Write About Father’s Day


A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I had the nickname “Ward Cleaver.”  I won’t tell you the circumstances under which these monikers were given, but I was surrounded by other guys with really cool labels like “Boomer,” and “Hook,” and “Spock.”*

*Yet another note to Daughter — Star Trek:  Live It; Learn It; Love It.

Since Daughter has made me well aware that her social/historical context spans approximately seven years (in other words, everything that happened before 2006 may be dated to either the Middle Ages, or World War II, or the Civil War, since, apparently, they all happened within a decade of one another within the last 100 years or so), I feel I must explain that Ward Cleaver (played by Hugh Beaumont) was the kind but stern father from the ancient television series, Leave It To Beaver.

You know, it was one of those situation comedies from the late 50’s in black and white, as were most shows back then.  Actually, I didn’t start watching the show until the 1970’s, but it was so goofy that I really enjoyed it.

Heck, to further date myself, I can even remember that one magical Saturday morning at some point in the 1960’s when the first family in our neighborhood bought a color TV!  We were all so excited that all the kids got together to journey over to their house to watch cartoons in color.  That experienced happened exactly once, as the family involved did not particularly enjoy hosting thirty children at 6:30 a.m. on a weekend morning.

It was mass hysteria!  Did I mention we were all hungry, too?

So, I regale you with this abbreviated account to relate that I’m one of those fathers, like Ward, who prefers quiet to loud, eating in to eating out, and simply hanging around the house — you know the type — my Spouse calls me a “Stick in the Mud.”

Which leads me to today, after receiving the obligatory, but heartfelt, wishes for a good day from my family, I was allowed to have a coffee and read the paper in peace.  I was able to watch the US Open (in which I will never play) and fiddle with Daughter’s car while everyone else went to the pool.  Tonight I caught the last part of the NBA Finals and, yippee, a new Masterpiece Theater is on later (while we simultaneously DVR Falling Skies).  And the weather was so nice I was even able to work in the yard for a bit, in my never-ending struggle to master our suburban landscape.

It was a good day.

My family is relatively healthy, relatively happy, and mostly under one roof (Son comes home tomorrow).  All the animals (dog, cats, birds) have been fed tonight, and we can pay our bills tomorrow — at least for this month!  I don’t worry so much about next, yet.


As Ward Cleaver would tell you, it’s a lot to be thankful for, but I know that Eddie Haskell is always lurking around the corner, and mischief and misfortune can pop up at any time around here.

But not today.  It was a good Father’s Day, indeed, but let’s get back to normal tomorrow, shall we?

Just don’t hassle me, man.

- Dad

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