It's my birthday today. I share this birthday with, among others, Giants broadcaster Duane Kuiper and unfunny comic strip cat Garfield. This year, I also share a birthday with Father's Day, which happens every few years. When I have my own kids, I'm fully prepared to hear, "This is for your birthday and Father's Day." Temporary roommate Angela, who has a birthday near Christmas, sums up the issue this way: "I spent five extra dollars on your present, so it's just like two gifts." Of course, my kids will probably be sending me crap like cardboard bookmarks or lanyards or molds of their handprints. "This finger painting is for Father's Day and your birthday, Dad." Boy, don't knock yourselves out there, kids.
When I was a kid, the birthday was centered around food. I could choose the menu at every meal. Each one was served on a red plate that read, "You Are Special Today", which was my parents' way of saying, even though it's your birthday, you're still sort of retarded. Don't get arrogant, birthday boy. We know your true colors.
Father's Day hasn't changed throughout the years. Dad gets up at dawn and does chores around the house. Any available children are then rounded up for a
forced march nature hike, along with our dog. This year, the hike has been skipped, bcause Molly is in South America, and seeing the remaining children's physical fitness might make Dad ashamed of having sired children in the first place. Later, Dad will do another six or seven hours of housework while international soccer football blares from the television. Three to four weeks later, Dad will receive his Father's Day gifts - lanyards in the shape of the Arsenal logo.
Happy Fathers Day, Dennis. Thanks for using the rhythm method.