Father’s Day Memories

Perhaps I am a tad jaded, but I find there is something a wee bit hokey, perhaps even slightly offensive about all the hoopla for Father’s Day, Mothers Day and all the like.  We all know that these are are ‘fake holidays’,  created by clever advertising departments to boost card sales. But as commercial as they may seem, there is some value to these days.  There is that nudge to pause, reflect, and acknowledge your parents, in memory, or in person…

My father was reclining on the couch reading Scientific American — his favourite magazine.  My mother, for some unknown reason had just given me a brand new crisp dollar bill. I pranced up to my father, I was about five or six years old, and snapped the new bill in front of him singing, “Look what I’ve got.”. 

Without looking at me, my father snatched the bill and crumpled it into his fist.  This was his way of compromising between Scientific American and playing with me.  He continued to read.  I worked at getting his fist to open it to get my dollar bill back.

The thing was, he kept reading.  And holding that fist.  Totally oblivious to my mounting distress over my dollar.  When he finally looked up, or I complained, he opened his fist to reveal a wadded up crumpled bill, not at all the crisp fresh one I had started out with.  I was plenty dismayed.  I snatched the bill out of his hand and ran off to my bedroom in tears. 

My father put down his beloved Scientific American, (probably heaved an enormous sigh) and followed me into my room.  Both of us crowded on the lower bunk bed, and what I remember about the conversation was that he explained to me that a crumpled dollar bill had the same value as a crisp brand new one.  And, that even if it was torn up into a hundred pieces, it would still have the same value, “as long as you had all the pieces.”

Happy Father’s Day.  This week’s episode is posted at Contentment is for Cows.

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