We’ve got it all wrong. This shouldn’t be called Father’s Day, it should be called “Thankful to be a Father’s Day.” Let me tell you why.
Because it means I was blessed with the love of a wonderful woman.
Because it means I was blessed with two wonderful children, both of whom, in their own unique way, have loved me and taught me a lot about myself that I otherwise would never have learned.
Because it means I got to go to kiddie movies that I would have liked to have gone to anyway, but would have been too embarrassed to do so.
Because it means I got to attend recitals and ballgames and boast and cheer and brag and not feel the least bit guilty.
Because it means I got to laugh at their foibles, cry at their disappointments, and exalt at their many successes.
Because it means that my mind is filled with fond memories and wonderful thoughts of the times we had together.
Because it means that every precious day I have left will be uplifted with the things and moments they choose to share with me.
On second thought, calling it Father’s Day is just fine, since maybe it’s a good way to return the joy we feel for them, because as I always say: “You can’t sprinkle happiness on someone else without spilling a few drops on yourself.”