Janice’s Jots: Set aside time today for dad
Father’s Day, an American tradition that began in the early 1900s, is becoming an international occasion — a day for giving thoughtful gifts, gathering all the family together for a feast, or reflecting on pleasant memories with dad in days gone by.
The observance of Father’s Day is said to have been an idea of Sonora Smart Dodd of Spokane, Wash. Her father was a Civil War veteran who raised six children without their mother. In 1916, President Woodrow Wilson approved of the idea after states and organizations began lobbying Congress, but it wasn’t until 1924 that President Calvin Coolidge made it a national event held on the third Sunday in June.
Whether he answers to the name Dad, Daddy, Papa or Padre, fathers in many countries around the world now celebrate their own special day. Fathers in England, Malaysia and Canada are among those enjoying their holiday in June. In Brazil, Dia Dos Pais is the second Sunday in August while Australia honors dad on Sept. 6 and in Italy, March 12 is the day to remember.
My dad passed away in 1981 after a long battle with throat and lung cancer. The last six years of his life, he could only speak by using a vibrator placed at the side of his throat after having his larynx surgically removed. This unusual sound fascinated young children, so “Daddy Mac” volunteered as a door greeter at church where he could talk with them before Sunday School time.
One of my earliest recollections of spending time with him was when I used my creative talents on an unsolicited haircut. This pre-schooler was drawing and cutting out paper dolls under a shade tree when he arrived home from work, stretched out on my pallet and fell asleep. With scissors in hand, I trimmed (butchered) his hair on one side, then he awoke as I was trying to finish the job on the other side. He had to go to the barber immediately and I never tried that again.
In old photo albums, many of the pictures of my two sisters and me, (I’m the youngest), are shown with our parents as we line up by our car.
When Daddy worked on repair jobs, he’d send me for a screwdriver or wrench. I hated being the tool go-fer because I had trouble deciding which tool was which, usually handing him the wrong one.
I loved to swim but had never been fishing. He decided to take all of us to the McGiboney farm where we could fish in the pond. Mother packed a picnic lunch and off we headed to Rock Island. He insisted we had to be quiet, which was tough for three bored little girls, who were getting hot and tired.
It didn’t take long for us to realize fishing was more than attaching a worm to the line, throwing the line out into the water and holding the pole? then holding the pole some more. We gathered rocks to brace the fishing poles in place while we ate sandwiches, fruit and other goodies that had been packed in the picnic basket. A gust of wind or tug on the line made a couple of the poles fall and float out toward the center of the pond. Daddy took off his shoes, wading out about chest deep to retrieve the poles when he stepped on a piece of glass and cut his foot very badly. That was my one and only fishing trip! The next time he went without us? and we didn’t complain one bit.