Generally the way it works amongst us humans is that a mother and a father are standard issue to kick start our existence in this world. As for other worlds, I cannot say, because other than Saskatchewan I have not visited any other planets. If I do and if I find anything of interest I will promptly report my finding back to you. Until then, carry on.

These “standard issue” mothers and fathers come in very unstandardized shapes, personalities, and shoe sizes. Father’s Day is day set aside for us to shower our father with gifts, praise, and a fresh jug of cologne. It takes more than a standard issue man to be a father to be a dad. It takes someone special. Someone like my dad.

I’ve always known my dad was a good dad but now that I’m older I realize that he’s more than that, he’s a good man as well. A trustworthy, honest man, with a great big heart that works hard and can be counted on to do what’s right.

My dad was only 20 years old when I was born and he was who I wanted to be. Watching him play softball when I was kid was something that I enjoyed and remember even now. I wanted to run, throw, and hit like him. Actually, I wanted to run, throw, and hit for him and, being a good dad, he let me do just that.

Football, track, baseball…I could hear his voice above any crowd and it always made me want to do my very best. Not because he’d make me shovel coal until my hands bled if I played poorly but because I simply wanted to make him proud. Proud to be my dad because I was proud to be his son. Still am and always will be I imagine.

A father son relationship is such that words and feelings are often times replaced or expressed through activities or actions. No need for Hallmark when we have sports, lawn care, and varmint control as a means of which to say, “Dad you’re the best and I love you”. Words are just so…I don’t know…direct, mushy, and uncomfortable for all involved. A couple beers while discussing dandelion eradication and proper tire inflation is productive, useful, and caring.

As I advance in age I’ve noticed that the dad I grew up with possesses my vocal cords from time to time. Without warning I open my mouth and my dad’s voice comes out. This vocal cord possession oddly enough seems to occur most often when I’m “reasoning” with my thirteen year old son. I used to find it concerning but now I find comfort in knowing that when I’m at my wits end my dad will always find a way to come through.

Happy Father’s Day to all you dad’s out there bustin’ your hump so junior can have basketball shoes that cost more than your first car. Mine was a 1970 Pontiac Bonneville that came out on the losing end of an altercation with a snow blower…but that’s another story isn’t it dad.