June 16, 2003
sounds about right to me
Last month we spent Mother's Day together as a family at the top of a mountain, basking in the sun and peace and live music and good vibes.
That's why one is called "Mother's Day" and the other is called "Father's Day." Mother's Day is a feminine day, one that comes with frilly toilet seat covers that prevent the the lid from standing up by itself. Father's Day is a Tim the Toolman day, celebrating manhood and swinedom.
Nothing would have pleased me more yesterday than to tell my son, "let's crank up the chainsaw and get rid of that f-ing pine tree I've been meaning to cut down before it grows tall enough to fall on the house."
We could put on boots and blue jeans, work up a righteous sweat, smell of gasoline and two-cycle engine oil and have sawdust in our hair when we were finished, with that pine tree laying in pieces on the ground. Then, we could sit in lawn chairs on the back patio and be proud of what we accomplished. I would drink a beer and he would drink a big glass of lemonade. We would belch and fart.
That's what guys do. And good fathers like to teach their sons to do manly things, like cut down trees, build fences and belch and fart. Quinton isn't old enough to handle a chainsaw yet, but his time will come. He's got the belching and farting down already, so I just have a few more things to teach him. He's on the right track.
I believe that the broad at bat is, too.
All content © Rob Smith