Casey and I went to Home Depot last week to make a copy of a key, and just after walking in the door, Casey realized he'd left the key in the car. Being lazy, I stayed put in the entrance, staring off into a sea of hardware as Casey hurried back into the parking lot to retrieve it. In the distance I noticed a curtain of gift cards dangling beneath a clapboard sign that said, "Happy Father's Day!" And I thought, chuckling, "I'm going to get Casey a Home Depot gift card for Father's Day." Not that Casey isn't handy, but buying tools isn't something that would fill him with delight.
I was thinking about saying this to Casey when he returned, but I realized, quite suddenly, that my dad would have loved a gift card to Home Depot - in fact, over the years I have purchased countless gift cards to Home Depot and Lowe's, all of which were received with genuine gratitude by my dad. One year, in an attempt to be a little more thoughtful and specific, I bought my dad some sort of super light from Home Depot, and when he opened the gift, Dad said, "Now this is something I can use. Thank you!" The realization that my dad would have appreciated the gift card - but was not here to receive it - ruined my joke completely, and I didn't even mention it when Casey joined me again.
I'm almost ashamed to admit it, but Father's Day has never meant all that much to me. It's not that I didn't appreciate or love my dad, or that I never wanted to wish him well on his special day. I did, and I wanted to please him on days intended to celebrate him. The thing is, my dad was never an exuberant holiday guy, even when he was the person who would receive gifts on special days of the year. Whether it was Valentine's Day or Grandparents' Day, dad only grudgingly participated in their superficial observance, picking out cards, for example, as he stood waiting in line to buy his bag of pistachios at the gas station. So, though he was grateful for gifts when he received them on Father's Day, I always got the sense that he felt like he was selling out, abandoning his long-held belief that holidays are for suckers. In general, it made me less likely to think too hard about the holiday. I loved my dad; he knew I loved him. We didn't have to make a big deal out of things.
This is my first Father's Day without my dad, and I have to say I've been a little weepy all day. Of course, this could be residual weepiness from my recent visit to Shreveport, every inch of which reminds me of my dad and all the reasons I loved him. Still, in light of everything I just mentioned, I am a little surprised by my emotion. He didn't care about the holiday. It didn't mean that much to me. But seeing all the dad shout-outs on Facebook, all the childhood pictures of people with their dads, has left me with an almost desperate desire to see my dad again. It's so much bigger than anything I feel on a daily basis, when I think of him 100 times a day. And yet it is so simple. I just want to wish him Happy Father's Day. I want to take him to Outback and give him a gift card to Home Depot. I want Marshall to hug him and give him a card with a pug on it. I want to talk to him about this new baby, speculate about whether it will be a girl or a boy. Just the little things that seemed insignificant to me a year ago but that would mean so much to me now.
I love you, dad. Happy Father's Day.
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