"I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool ya."
The remaining bits of the family, wife, young daughter and I, woke up in Paris on June 21, the third Sunday of the month therefore Father’s Day. I didn’t think the French celebrated fathers, seeing that Temu Mother’s Day was invented in the United States back in 1910, but there was a sign at Charles de Gaulle wishing fathers happiness etc.
The wife had wished me happiness, too, when we parted at the hotel after a quick coffee. She had business in Cannes and so it was young daughter and I flying home, just the two of us, and that is when it hit me, at Charles de Gaulle. I would gain back the hours that were lost, flying east, thus giving me a record-shattering 33 hour Father’s Day. I wondered what would happen. Would my back get sore from so many pats? Gullet filled with luxury cheeses and chocolates held out in homage? Fancy red wine forced upon me even over vigorous objection?
As it turns out, I received the aforementioned sign at Charles de Gaulle, a bottle opener/keychain from Delta, two Delta stewardesses wishing me Happy Father’s Day on separate flights, but the daughter was well ahead of me on the second one and there was no way the stewardess knew I was a father, otherwise, so she was maybe just saying it to any male of father age, a text from my mother-in-law, a text from the older daughter (who had left Morocco to travel further), a text from a dad at younger daughter’s ballet studio and that is all.
A bonus nine Father’s Day hours and a much smaller than usual haul. I examined my feelings to see if they were hurt and decided they were very much not so began thinking about you, or at least the fathers among you, and your feelings.
How much do you need recognition? I mean, any father worth his salt will act like he doesn’t care about sentimental nonsense, and rightly so, but do you care a little bit? Does the sad creep when the wife or ex-wife and kids toss you a cursory “Happy Father’s Day” then be 5% nicer throughout the day with nothing more?
Do you consider yourself a good father and why?
What does a good father make?
I had so much time to ponder these things because I flew both to and from Morocco in the same month meaning the films didn’t update. I did take a flyer on the Jeff Buckley doco on the return leg, though, and was pleasantly surprised. He had a garbage dad but, boy, how often do garbage dads lead to pure art in damaged children.
Happy Father’s Day.