Father’s Day Abstinence

Father’s Day is always a struggle. My father lives over a thousand miles away. We don’t talk to each other very much, and we see each other even less. It’s not ideal. Sunday, I will call him. Maybe he’ll pick up the phone. But maybe I’ll just have to leave a message.

It’s Father’s Day, after all. That’s what you do.

The crazy part about getting older is that I’m now a father too. I know that my daughter has been working on some kind of gift for weeks. Most likely it’s made out of paper and tape, and incredibly elaborate. I’m not expecting anything from my son. As it turns out, there’s nothing I want.

Which isn’t entirely true. I want a new pair of sandals, but those I need to buy myself. Looking at the Delaware Supply Instagram feed recently, I realized there was a bottle of beer they brought in that I wanted to try. By now, it’s probably gone.

If I’m lucky, I’ll get a nap. But I’m not sure that’s going to fly. What are you getting your dad?

In theory, this is working out exactly like it should, right? One should give what you would like to receive. I want nothing. So I’m giving nothing.

I do remember buying my father gifts in the past, but I cannot recall if they were for Father’s Day or his birthday in October. Wine is the present that stands out the most. I remember buying bottles of Le Cigare Volant. I might have even picked him up some of his favorite Etude pinot noir at one point. Although I might have also simply bought the Etude for myself and thought of him while I enjoyed it. Memory is a funny thing.

My own kids are too young to buy me wine. Besides, our wine cubby is full after a recent purchase from Twenty-Two Second Street. I didn’t write up the mixed case I picked up for spring and summer, but the first bottle of the German white I bought was delightful and packed with vibrant acidity.

Heck, I don’t know if my dad still even drinks wine. Last I heard, the beverage he raved about was Guinness stout. But apparently the domestic stuff doesn’t hold a candle to what you can get in Ireland.

In my heart of hearts I imagine there has to be a better stout brewed in America. At my son’s bar mitzvah I made sure we had Brown’s oatmeal stout for my dad to try. But at a certain point, one has to realize the power of brands and taste memory. Which means, no matter how many different craft stouts I send his way, they will all be deficient because they are not Guinness.

However, all of that may have changed.

If my kids were of beer buying age, they could buy me any kind of oude geuze from Belgium, and I’d be happy. But my beer closet is pretty filled up these days too. Really, what I need is to spend a day drinking through some of what I’ve collected, perhaps while making a batch of chicken stock, and taking a nap.

We may spend the time going strawberry hunting though. Which isn’t a bad compromise. The strawberry season is preciously short. Have you heard about the strawberry festival on Saturday? But that doesn’t work for us. We have an epic lunch planned for tomorrow.

My goal is to focus on the simple pleasures. Try to treat myself well, and enjoy some time with the kids. At this age, Father’s Day seems to be more about them than me anyhow.

Although maybe, just maybe, I can figure out a way to get a deep fried burger in there too.