Today, Father, is Father's Day
©1998 Michael Feldman

Listen in to the Whad'Ya Know? Father's Day special moment from the June 20th show.

Today, father, is Father's Day
And we're giving you a tie,
You said that it was nice of us to bother,
You said that it was nice of us to fuss,
But according to our mother
You're our father
And that's good enough for us.
--Harry Ruby

Two years ago my Father's Day present was a hose reel; last year it was a set of nozzles. See a pattern here? What am I, a hose that walks? Well, it's hard to know what to get the man who provides everything; dad pays for everything else, if he wants something, the thinking goes, he'll probably just go out and get it.

Father's Day is not even officially recognized in pre-school-mother gets plaster casts of palm prints, photo tee shirts, and rainbow bouquets of tissue flowers, while dear old dad is lucky to get a crayola heart hastily scrawled after the closing buzzer of "free choice" time, if anything at all. After all, it's not like he's the cute bus driver who merits hand-painted cards, refrigerator magnets and chocolate chip cookies baked in the shape of a GMC on the last day of school (someday he' ll be a father, then he'll see).

I come from a very dad-centric family, and yet we never remembered him on Father's Day, unless he took us out for custard to celebrate. The one year I did get it in my head to get him something it was-of course-a tie, brown with (I'm afraid) small pinkish polka dots I found at Johnny Walker's in Capitol Court. He was thrilled to have been remembered, but the look of disappointed that involuntarily flashed across his face (the look we dreaded to the extent of going to medical school, law school, and marrying Jewish girls to avoid) haunts me to this day. He wore it, of course, but that's what dads do. After he died and I had to go through his clothes, it was the first thing I threw out.

Howard once got him a fedora with a German brush on the band which he wore on ceremonial occasions (although a Jewish guy doesn't have that many Prussian outings), but, in general, we had to be content with the hope that what we did made dad proud, as he sure as hell wasn't going to receive any tangible rewards. Meanwhile, if mom's charm bracelet representing all the kids and grandkids got any heavier, it was clear she would eventually be unable to lift one arm, and her shlepping ability would be slashed by fifty percent.

Being a father is like being the head of a non-existent state, next in line for the throne of France, say, or a Russian imperial pretender. You have some historical claims but will never exercise any real power, at least until the ruling matriarchy decrees affirmative action or loosens the interpretation of what constitutes a mother. Anything as abstract as depositing the money in the bank or keeping the garage door oiled doesn't earn any credits; should you try to be "a second mommy" to your kids, be prepared to face the buzz saw that is the first. Your children love you all right, they just love as if you were their father, with that knack kids having for knowing what is indispensable and what isn't.

Now that bio-technology has proceeded to the point where "dad" may be nothing more than yet another example of better living through chemistry, our little franchise, shaky enough as it is, may soon be under new management.

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