Meh. In all frankness I’m ready to barf what with all the “my dad is (was) the best” social media posts today. Welcome to Father’s Day wherein most folks are sharing old timey photos of daddy’s little girl with daddy and her new pony or the iconic father and son pics framed by some semblance of sports at play.
I was not the athletic type and hence probably not the son my father hoped for. I much preferred my Hardy Boys mystery books under the shade of a towering maple than grabbing the ‘ole ball and glove. We tried the baseball thing and I’d run from the ball versus running towards the ball. That really peeved my dad as they were all soft throws.
Later, much—around the time I discovered the Bronte sisters and fancied myself searching the local cow pasture for ‘my’ Heathcliff, father purchased a junior set of golf clubs. They were legit clubs, just shorter in length for a kid. My father was an avid golfer and it wasn’t unusual for him to play several rounds of golf on any given Saturday. He was a really good golfer and I think he felt that golf might be my thing if genetics had anything to do with it. Alas, I sucked at golf as well. My 10-year old self dug divets and bruised many a fairway.
Father would grow weary of my inability to, say, even hit the ball let alone drive one several hundred feet. I would be dismissed to the club house. It was there that I discovered my true calling: the ladies who lunch.
Within weeks the colored help (I’m talking mid 1960s so you understand that statement) knew my standing order of tuna salad on toast with an iced sweet tea. It was the most genteel setting: wrought iron patio sets painted white framed by green and white striped canvas curtains encircling the outdoor seating overlooking the green, deep water pond.
Father never expressed any discontent with my preference for lunching versus golfing; we had a win-win. He got to golf in peace and I got to stealth eavesdrop conversations. That skill continues to serve me well.
While father and I did not connect on many levels I know—now that I’m older, that many of my good qualities are linked to his presence in my life. He was in one word: kind. I don’t think he had any enemies. He had a good way with people and he was—to have stayed married to mother, the proverbial saint. There’s something to be said for those dads who understood that divorce would make it far worse for their kids. They stayed put. They played a lot of golf.