The Art of Remembering (and Power Washing)

It’s Father’s Day. I really hope my kids send Chad a nice email because, as of this morning, no cards have shown up in the mail—even though I texted them twice last week with helpful reminders. In their defense, Chad isn’t really a “card guy.” He looks at them for about three seconds, sets them down, and then they float around the house for a few weeks until I finally throw them away, feeling vaguely guilty, while he hasn’t thought about them once since opening them.

Personally, I’ve always been conflicted about cards. I have a few I’ve kept because they had sweet messages or were particularly cute. My Grandma Fischer, however, was much more practical. She would keep cards, and if someone hadn’t written on one side, she’d simply tear off the blank half and reuse it. At the time, I thought this was mildly horrifying. In hindsight, that’s actually a brilliant system—both eco-friendly and thrifty. Cards these days are ridiculously expensive. I bought one the other day and when the cashier said, “That’ll be seven dollars,” I nearly choked. Seven dollars for a card! Though to be fair, it did have sparkles.

Of course, Father’s Day also reminds me that my own dad has been dead for almost four years now, which is a real bummer because I truly enjoyed my dad. One of the things I miss most is being able to call him just to share some ridiculous thing I witnessed that he would’ve found hilarious. Like the other day, when I was at the dump and overheard the guy working there on speakerphone. First, he was discussing his colonoscopy prep with someone, and then immediately called his wife, Linda, to accuse her of not paying a speeding ticket. When she said, “What are you talking about?” his response was simply, “What I just asked you.” Later that same day, Chad got a text message about an unpaid speeding ticket—clearly a scam—but I couldn’t help but wonder if that was the very same scam Linda was being harassed about while I was dumping my trash. My dad would have loved that story.

So, this Father’s Day, I decided to tackle a little project in his honor: power washing the old Laser sailboat he brought out to the lake house years ago. I gave it a good scrubbing and, at least for now, I no longer fear that wild animals have taken up residence underneath it. I’ve also started taking inventory of what parts are missing. I found a rigging manual online, and Cam and I are planning to see just how far we can get in piecing it back together. I’m not saying this is going to turn into some epic Lake Wylie version of the guy who sailed to Hawaii with his cat, but I do feel like I’ve got the same spirit—just enough to figure out how to tie some sailor’s knots and get the mast and boom attached. We’ll see how far this goes.

So to all the dads out there — happy day, and may your inbox be filled with sparkly emails. And to those of us missing our dads today: tell them a funny story. I’m pretty sure they’re still listening — probably rolling their eyes, but listening.