On Father's Day

I'm not a big fan of special days. Father's Day. Mother's Day. Birthdays. Even Christmas. They mostly seem like scams to line the pockets of greeting card companies.

This is going to sound really sappy, but my life has been so blessed that everyday seems special. I'm going over to Chris' in a few hours for a Father's Day brunch that I will thoroughly enjoy. Franny wrote a nice thing on her Facebook page honoring me and her about-to-be-a-father husband. Nate will give me a call sometime later today. I appreciate all of those gestures, but if all three of the kids forgot about the day it wouldn't phase me in the least. I don't need to be reminded that I am loved.

I think I have been a good father. My children remain the focal point of my life whether I want them to be or not. When they were young, I loved watching them play soccer, or softball, or rehearse plays, perform in plays, or get newspapers out. I ached for them every time they got disappointed, or whenever a girlfriend or boyfriend did something creepy. I sat beside them in hospital rooms when necessary. I clearly expressed my approval or disapproval whenever appropriate.

None of that has changed. Nothing makes me happier than seeing Chris on stage, or watching Nate's latest film, or listening to the approbation laid on Franny by her White House bosses. Nothing makes me madder then when I see someone in a commercial that Nate should have had, or when I read a nasty review of something Chris has produced ("Office Broadway " comes to mind), or when I hear Franny's tired and frustrated voice after working her 80 hour weeks.

I already have everything I want for Father's Day. I have wonderful memories of both triumph and despair. I have the satisfaction of seeing Nate continuing to work at his art. I have the pride over Franny's remarkable successes. And I have the joy of watching Chris be a great and loving father.

Life is good.