Who Needs Hottie Boyfriends and Furniture That Isn’t Stolen From Dumpsters When You Have Love and Approval?

Growing up, I was never one of those girls who dreaded Valentine’s Day because I always knew that I’d get a valentine. Every morning on February 14th, I’d walk down the stairs to find a card, and when I was older a box of chocolates, sitting at my place on the kitchen table. My Dad continued this tradition long after my sister and I left the house- sending us Valentine’s Day care packages in university. Then cards stuffed with thoughtful notes and something special when we became adults. Love was a given, it was unconditional. A hunky escort to the movies with a hot car on that day? Well, that was a bonus.

I played sports only once, but long before then, my Dad was always on my team, sitting in my corner, rooting for me. After university, when my peers were applying to prestigious graduate programs and medical schools, I chose to be an underpaid performer at Walt Disney World. My Dad was the first one to stand up and applaud my decision. My father laughed heartily when I told him that the Disney recruiter had asked whether I didn’t want to do something bigger and better with my life. From the time I was small, I have received my father’s support. It’s a key element of my freight train like momentum whenever I get an idea in my head.

While the love my father shows me and the confidence that his constant approval has built are some of the best parts of my Dad, undoubtedly my favourite quality of my his is the way he reserves judgment. In university, I dated a pot smoking, PHISH loving, wisp of a man. My parents hated him. Incidentally, the PHISH lover’s parents hated me too and were quite vocal about it. But I never had any idea of my father’s feelings. It was only through my Mom that I discovered my Dad’s words about the break up – “Good, now that nice young man who’s been hanging around will have a shot.” I loved that my Dad respected all of my choices, even the ones he didn’t agree with.

So on this day, when everyone is buying the men in their life lawn mowers and power saws, I hope each of you are lucky enough to have a person like my Dad. I’m a stronger, more confident person for having him as a parent. After the men in your lives open their cement mixer or running shoes, make sure to tell them why they’re special because there’s nothing in this world quite like a Dad.


Dad, in case you missed the hint in the last paragraph, I didn’t buy you a gift. I got my thriftiness from your mother. This post is your gift. It won’t keep you quite as warm as a portable space heater but last I checked; your furnace is working fine. What can I say? You’re lucky to have me. But not quite as lucky as I am to have you.

While I’m In Trouble I Might As Well Wear The Hot Pink Tights My Husband Hates

The following conversation occurred multiple times this week.


Roscoe “You know it’s Father’s Day this weekend?”


The Great Unwashed indignantly “Yes.” Even though I had completely forgotten but sometimes I like to be the reasonable one who is always right for a change.


Roscoe “Don’t forget to call or do something for your Dad.”


The Great Unwashed “I already have something planned.” I didn’t but Roscoe has a habit of picking out the perfect gift months in advance then wrapping it up beautifully on the anniversary/birthday/holiday in question and I wanted him to think that for once I had too.


Roscoe “Don’t forget that your Dad is leaving Friday so you need to do it before then.”


The Great Unwashed in an aggravated tone “I know!”


So this conversation happened a couple of times this week. As I hadn’t actually mentioned my made up gift once, Roscoe came to the correct conclusion that I didn’t have anything. This led to more reminders, which led to more white lies on my part.


Hence I might have been really embarrassed and in just a hint of trouble for forgetting yet another occasion last night when my Dad called to tell me he was about to leave the country for two weeks and wanted to say he loved me and would miss me on Father’s Day. However luckily I had gone to bed at eight so the call went straight to voicemail. Roscoe left for the States early this morning so he didn’t hear my cursing when I listened to the message from my dad. I have exactly four hours to sort out something a gift before Roscoe returns.


My Ideas For A Father’s Day Card And Gift So far




I love you so much that my deep affection is so entwined with my being that I forget that it exists and therefore forget to acknowledge it.






Dear Dad,


Once upon a time you forgot me at a Garden Store. This year I forgot Father’s Day- shall we call it even?






Dear Dad,


I’m a bad daughter, you should probably trade me in for a new one.  I’d go for a less disorganized model.






Dear Dad,


England, Ireland  or wherever you are going celebrates Father’s Day in September. In keeping with the customs of the country you are visiting we’ll celebrate then.


This may be a complete lie. Also I’m sorry that I can’t remember the country you’re travelling to.



Although it appears that the child is the one having the most fun, what you cannot see is the joyful smile of the forty year old man who spent three hours in the hot sun assembling this fantastic gift. Photo Courtesy of gcnexus.com

Although it appears that the child is the one having the most fun, what you cannot see is the joyful smile of the forty year old man who spent three hours in the hot sun assembling this fantastic gift.
Photo Courtesy of gcnexus.com

Dear Dad,


Once we bought you a giant trampoline for Father’s Day. You never once used it. It was a pretty selfish gift. I decided to do one better this Father’s Day and not buy anything for either you or myself. You’re welcome.






Dear Dad,


My only talent as a daughter lies in my creative writing ability. I hope you enjoyed this belated Father’s Day post. I love you. Always






Roscoe has returned from the States with a shiny new stethoscope. While he was gone I thought of two ideas for a Father’s Day gift- golf clubs and a new fishing reel.


It’s unfortunate that my father doesn’t golf or fish.


The wall.

I’m going to put on my new hot pink tights that Roscoe hates, text my Dad a link to this post and then own up to the fact that I didn’t have anything planned.


Hopefully my tights will be so loud that Roscoe won’t be able to hear the sound of me forgetting yet another holiday.