Editorial
Front Page - Friday, June 26, 2009
Are We There Yet?
Dad was surprised
Jay Edwards
I spent most of Father’s Day watching the U.S. Open. Kathy told me on Saturday that, if it were all right with me, we would celebrate the day a week late, because my daughter would be home then. “Yeah sure,” I think I said while watching Tiger miss another fairway.
“You sure you don’t mind?” Kathy asked. “Yeah sure.”
But then Sunday rolled around and I was a little sad I wouldn’t be seeing the kids. That attitude didn’t improve much when I tried to start my car before church. It was as dead as sunshine at Bethpage.
I popped the hood and stared at the motor. It was still there. No one had stolen it during the night. Next I stared at the battery, which was also in its usual spot. Then I jiggled a few cables. I did that because I had the hood open and felt like I needed to try something, even though I had no idea what it should be. But I jiggled anyway.
I looked closer at the battery and saw that I had bought it at Wal-Mart in April of ’06. It also said it had a three-year warranty. “They pretty well nailed that,” I thought to myself.
I shut the hood and tried turning the key again, just in case some of my jiggling or staring had accomplished anything good, which of course neither had.
I called Kathy, who had gone earlier to teach a Sunday school class. “My car won’t start,” I told her. “I’ll come get you,” she said without hesitating.
What was I hoping for? I don’t know, maybe something like, “Oh that’s too bad honey, you can just stay home and watch your golf and I’ll bring you home some nice lunch when church is over.”
Instead it was, “I’ll come get you.” And that’s just what she did.
The idea for creating a day for children to honor their fathers began in Spokane, Wash. A woman by the name of Sonora Smart Dodd thought of the idea while listening to a Mother’s Day sermon in 1909.
After her mother died, Sonora was raised by her father, and she wanted him to know what he meant to her. He was, in her eyes, a courageous, selfless, and loving man (kind of like the way my kids must picture me).
Anyway, Sonora’s father was born in June, so she chose to hold the first Father’s Day celebration in Spokane, Wash., on the June 19, 1910 (the same year Alex Smith finished first in the Open after a playoff at the Philadelphia Cricket Club and collected the $300 winner’s prize).
In 1926, a National Father’s Day Committee was formed in New York City. In ‘56, a Joint Resolution of Congress recognized the day; and in 1972, president and father Richard Nixon established a permanent national observance of Father’s Day to be held on the third Sunday of June.
So Father’s Day was born in memory and gratitude by a daughter who thought that her father and all good fathers should be honored with a special day just like we honor our mothers on Mother’s Day.
But instead of being honored, I was standing in 96-degree heat, trying to remember whether to hook up the positive or negative cables first to my lifeless battery.
I got it right and the jump thankfully worked; and an hour and $75 later I was leaving Wal-Mart and headed back to the comfort of my den for more golf.
As the sun was setting last Father’s Day, I was watching some kid named Ricky Barnes teeing off for his final round in the final group. Barnes was ranked number 519 in the world last week as he prepared to play in the world’s toughest tournament. In the group behind him, tied for third and ranked number 882 in the world was a beefier David Duval, who was trying his
hardest to escape the abyss known as “Finchy.”
About the time Barnes drove his tee-shot on Number 2 into some knee-high fescue, the horn blew, telling the players they were on their last hole of the day. Barnes was probably fine with that.
I heard some commotion from our kitchen and looked up to see my daughter standing there. She had driven in to surprise her “Dear Old Dad.” Behind her was her brother. They had Father’s Day cards and a bottle of wine. Oh yes, and Penny, Alexis’ new puppy that is part Beagle but more Jack Russell Terrier.
We laughed a while before dinner and after everyone filled their plates, we took our places once again at the table. It was a familiar and welcome scene, and one I never tire of.
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