Sins of the Fathers Day

It’s Fathers Day this weekend, and I have a problem with that. Certainly, I don’t object to Fathers Day. It’s a nice holiday that lets you give a little more respect to Dad than he usually gets. And I have a kid now, so Fathers Day just moved up a few spots on the chart of important holidays for me.

What bothers me is the timing. Fathers Day falls in mid-June. That’s summertime, well after school gets out even for districts that release late. Mothers Day, on the hand, occurs in early May, when even the children in districts that release early are still in school. Why should that matter? Let’s think back to the Friday before Mothers Day. What were our children doing? They were being forced by their teachers to make Mothers Day presents. They had to hand-draw cards or make little baskets out of construction paper or create papier-maché flowers. Part of their schoolwork was to make something nice for Mom.

The kids, by and large, loved it. They glowed with pride as they created some hellish-looking thing comprised almost entirely of staples and Elmer’s School Glue. They said, “I made it for you!” with the earnestness that only a child can muster when presenting an art project gone so horribly wrong.

And what do dads get? Nothing! Why? Because school is out. Our children’s teachers aren’t forcing them to make monstrosities out of Popsicle sticks and Dixie cups for us, because they’re off on vacation themselves.

This is just not right. If Jennifer gets to have something extra made for her, why don’t I? To be sure, she will take Onna shopping, and they will pick out something nice for me. But I did that for her back in May, and she still got the added “bonus” of a school art project.

Listen, I understand that women carry the children in their wombs for nine months and then go through hell in childbirth. But fathers spend the next nine years carrying the children on their shoulders, and it Dad not Mom out in the yard getting hit in the nuts with a plastic bat while trying to teach the kid to hit a pitch. Mothers may spend months suckling newborns, but it’s Dad who teaches them how to eat a chili cheese dog. Children may go to their mothers when they need comforting, but they turn to Dad when they need someone to yell at the coach for not playing them enough.

I don’t wish to belittle the sacrifices mothers make on behalf of their children, but they are certainly no less significant than the contributions a father makes to the development of a young life. So why are we denied the “joy” of getting that extra, teacher-mandated gift that no one wants?

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