I totally forgot that yesterday was Father’s Day in much of the Northern Hemisphere* until I saw PostSecret’s “Father’s Day Secrets“. And then I got all sappy and teary-eyed. As you do.
Especially over these ones:
That last one, in particular, got to me. I’ve noticed lately, particularly with Boy Z, this primal need for recognition from his Dad. We do swimming lessons on a Sunday morning. After the rush of pride over seeing him swim on his own for the first few times, it starts to get a bit redundant. Boy Z floundering through the water up the lane. Boy Z floundering down the lane. Sometimes, midway through the class, I reach for my iPod for a quick game of solitaire to while the time away. But inevitably, Boy Z looks up with a smile whenever he passes me to make sure I’m watching. To make sure I’m bursting with paternal pride.
As you do.
Because apparently, for a nearly three year old boy, paternal recognition/pride is as important as three squares a day. And it isn’t just the near three year old. These days, Not Max makes sure to make eye contact with me before he pulls plates full of food off the table. I can see that this business of raising boys is just chock full of paternal responsibilities of which I never even conceived.
So there you go. Happy belated Fathers’ Day to all you Northern Hemisphere dads who have spent countless Sunday mornings bursting with paternal pride – genuine or adequately feigned. Especially to my Dad, who has photographic evidence of his presence in the bleachers.
Based on the relative position of ball and bat/glove in these photos, he must have gotten pretty good at feigning pride.