Celebrating Father’s Day

I read a post the other day about why many men don’t want to celebrate their birthday. I am one of those men.

I’ve never really given why I feel that way much thought. I’m pretty sure it’s not related to any traumatic birthday from years gone by, so it’s definitely wrapped up in a general dislike of being MADE the centre of attention and/or a dislike of enforced participation in “fun”.

That makes me sound like a miserable sod, which I am not.

Fathers Day holds the same kind of focus, a spotlight on me.

Given my qualification for the title of “father” was a few milligrams of sperm and several seconds of fun (for me!) it seems a little OTT to have an entire day to celebrate such a short moment.

I jest.

It was at least tens of seconds (or as I just mistyped “sexonds”, yeah baby!).

I miss my own Dad, and when such thoughts crop up I often wonder what he thought about things like this. I can’t ask him, and that makes me sad.

Yet in a short while, a small boy will rise from his slumber, bleary eyed, and ask his Daddy to make him some breakfast.

I am enormously proud of him. Which, I fully understand, means I need to accept some of the acclaim for how well he is turning out.

He is kind, smart, funny, strong, healthy, and full of love and compassion.

So, yeah, I AM a good Dad. I am proud of me.

It’s not easy for me to think those things, but over the past few years I’ve started to embrace them, and so, yes, I will celebrate Father’s Day today.

Go Dads!