I love to buy cards. I am kind of competitive about it; I want to give the funniest, most personal card of the occasion. In my family, we do not give sappy cards. One of those flowery, calligraphy laden cards full of overwrought sentimentality has no place at our table. We would all be severely uncomfortable.
So you would think that Father’s Day would be an excellent occasion for giving an awesome card, but it always makes me feel sad to buy a card for my dad. Not because my dad and I have some scarring card-oriented incident haunting us from the past, but because the card selection at Duane Reade has me convinced that everyone else’s dad is a one dimensional, La-Z-Boy loving, fishing buffoon. My dad is the jam. My dad taught me how to cook and how to grocery shop efficiently. He taught me how to drive (somehow both his heart and his imaginary-brake stomping foot survived this) and mow the lawn and change a tire. He continues to try to teach me not to get worked up over things outside my control, though that lesson hasn’t stuck as well as tire changing.
My dad taught me to treat everyone with the same respect. He taught me that ladies don’t swear (my mother fortunately undid that lesson). He taught Pandito all these things plus how to play all the sports. All of them. My gratitude for all of this cannot be expressed in a card full of fart jokes.
So next year, I hope Duane Reade can step it up a notch. There are lots of dads like mine who are awesome and not just Al Bundy prototypes waiting around for their jerk kids to give them passive aggressive cards implying their paternal worthlessness. It’s not nice on someone’s special day. Anyway, if I’m going to be passive aggressive, I am not going to spend money on a card and postage. That’s what ambiguously angry Facebook statuses are for.