Folks, like my Father’s Day gift, this column is a little late.
To be honest, Father’s Days’ popularity around here slots roughly below the Chinese New Year and our dog’s birthday.
A small part of me hopes one day I’ll get a letter from the Father of the Year mob, but I’ll be the first to admit numerous mistakes have been made so the odds aren’t good.
Besides, those contests are rigged; which is my excuse and I’m sticking to it.
Anyway, for some reason, this year’s Father’s Day was slightly overshadowed by our eldest daughter’s wedding, so I wasn’t expecting a major celebration. Perhaps a small gathering of up to 50 people, some cake and several unopened bottles of booze. Nothing too outrageous.
What I got was a packet of chocolate coated sultanas.
While it was better than nothing, it did fall slightly below my expectations.
I was earnestly informed that a postal delay was the reason for the lack of gifts adorning my bedspread that sunny Sunday morning.
Then last weekend I returned home to find a small package on the kitchen table with a note attached to it: Don’t Break These Dad!
Considering this a challenge I had to accept, I tore open the box. Inside were two small glass mugs.
In a column I wrote recently, I covered the heartbreak I’d experienced trying to replace my favourite $2.50 glass drinking mug after it had been broken by some boozy idiot.
Basically, I’d given up my quest.
My daughters had replaced my favourite drinking mug; twice!
I don’t know where they’d found them, or how much they paid, but it was such a thoughtful gift I immediately wondered if I should lock them safely away in the cupboard; the glasses, not my daughters.
Because the chances are high these new family heirlooms will also wind up smashed, probably by me; again.
But I’ll risk using them, as every sip I take out of those cheap cups will be tinged with the taste of gratitude.
It really is the thought that counts, no matter how late it is.