Fathers' Day

The phone rang about an hour ago, and my only son said cheerfully, "Happy Father's Day." And I told him it was. He's one of those people who would rather call than send a card, but I like to hear his voice. A lot of men aren't good at cards. I, however, am one who is. I love sending cards of all kinds. In both my marriages, I've sent out most of the Christmas cards. In fact, I've been sending them out for almost 45 years. I send out cards on almost any occasion I can find.

My son had his only child, also a son, with him today down in Alabama. The divorce decree allows limited visitation, with more time in summer than during the school year. My grandson, who's 5 1/2 years old, had attended Vacation Bible School last week, which truly rang a bell with me, as it was one of the activities I enjoyed back in Alabama in the late forties. The religious instruction didn't take with me, but I remember the experience of Vacation Bible School as a positive.

I never got to give a card to my father, as he left my mother and me when I was about 5 years old. I never saw him again. He died alone, an unrecovered alcoholic, in a small apartment above a grocery store in Sacramento, California, in 1981. He was found on the floor of the apartment by the grocery store owner. His sister, my favorite aunt, told me he had cut his drinking down to a few beers. I never could do that, so if he did, I salute him. I missed him for so many years and was angry, but when I found out about his alcoholism, I at least understood his behavior, for I was one, too. It didn't excuse what he did, but it certainly made it comprehensible to me, and I was no longer angry with him.

Fathers' Day may be one of those holidays made up by card companies, but so what? I enjoyed hearing from my son.