I spent my Sunday morning as I frequently do, drinking coffee and reading the two Times, the Seattle Times and the New York Times. I have found a new venue that I really like, though it is a bit unconventional and hard to imagine as a destination. It's the grocery store. Huh, you say? Yep, Haggin's grocery store. It has a food court, a Starbucks in the store, and, I suppose, an almost unlimited food supply. Sounds a bit better, I think, when it is described like that rather than just a grocery store. I buy a croissant, a muffin, and a cup of coffee (or two) and I am set for about three and a half hours-longer if the newspaper or the food is filling.
Aside from the obvious attributes of the place, it is also a better place to watch people. Not ever in a million years would I cast aspersions on Starbucks customers, but they (people other than me) can be a tiny bit snobby. Maybe snobby isn't the right word--focused is perhaps a better description. They want their "half, half, three pump, venti, no-foam, vanilla latte sooner rather than later, and while some dawdle in their coffee bliss, most flee quickly and enjoy their caffeine high elsewhere.
That's not true of most grocery store customers, especially those with kids. I suspect that there are questions to answer, like why the bananas are yellow and the oranges are orange. There is also an awful lot of teaching going on when a parent takes a child or children to the grocery store. Some of that teaching is active: "no, junior, you can't eat part of a papaya and then put it back," or "no, Sally, these are not bumper car(t)s." Far more of the teaching is less active but broader and includes the economics of a grocery shopping--what kid hasn't been told in some way that the family can't afford all the brand name foods that they have seen on TV? There are nutrition lessons galore, as children are told that they can't have the really yummy things (Captain Crunch) but instead have to get (and eat!) the yukky things, like yogurt for breakfast.
So what does this have to do with Father's Day? A lot, I suppose. My grocery store visit gave me the inspiration for this post, as I saw numerous instances of why we celebrate today. I saw kids picking out donuts and pastries that Daddy would like, often causing long conversations and delays while deciding at the bakery counter. I saw the father's love when he picked up his daughter, who had a pretty visible "accident" and hugged her and told her it would be OK. I saw the same when I saw a dad let his twelve-year-old son pick out which salmon fillets to grill later today a Father's Day meal. And I saw and felt this when I saw a dad having his hand held by a child who still thought that her dad could lift the world.
I am more sensitive than I think I have ever been to the idea of Father's Day. My dad passed away a little more than a year ago, but last Father's Day I was consumed by my own issues and struggles and the day passed by in a blur. Perhaps it was a reverse and perverse version of the song "Cats in the Cradle." Today, as I saw the expressions of and perhaps the meaning of Father's Day, I felt the loss of my dad acutely. I think part of what made me sensitive is that I can't remember similar instances of grocery store love with my dad. It's not that I don't think that they happened--there must have been many such instances. But I don't remember or certainly don't remember enough of them, and that increased my sadness. My dad helped raise us in an era when things like I saw today happened along the way, and were seldom remarked upon or, apparently, remembered. Far more of my dad's love was shown by not being there, by picking up that extra shift, or doing that off the books wiring job for a few bucks. That was the era, that was his generation, and that was my my dad.
I wonder if I am unqualified to relish the day. I have no kids, and while I love and care about children of others, many of those parents roll their eyes and laugh loudly when they see me cringe as their chocolate-faced, sticky-handed little monsters head my way. Ooops, did I really just write that? I love kids. Really. But I think differently. Father's Day isn't just about having someone call you Dad, but perhaps it is more about being able to call someone Dad. And today, I miss being able to do that.
So I have no less reason or responsibility to recognize (and remember) Father's Day. Even if it is only because I used to be able say "dad."
Kenneth R. Tetzloff, December 25, 1925 to April 17, 2008.
"Dad"
Aside from the obvious attributes of the place, it is also a better place to watch people. Not ever in a million years would I cast aspersions on Starbucks customers, but they (people other than me) can be a tiny bit snobby. Maybe snobby isn't the right word--focused is perhaps a better description. They want their "half, half, three pump, venti, no-foam, vanilla latte sooner rather than later, and while some dawdle in their coffee bliss, most flee quickly and enjoy their caffeine high elsewhere.
That's not true of most grocery store customers, especially those with kids. I suspect that there are questions to answer, like why the bananas are yellow and the oranges are orange. There is also an awful lot of teaching going on when a parent takes a child or children to the grocery store. Some of that teaching is active: "no, junior, you can't eat part of a papaya and then put it back," or "no, Sally, these are not bumper car(t)s." Far more of the teaching is less active but broader and includes the economics of a grocery shopping--what kid hasn't been told in some way that the family can't afford all the brand name foods that they have seen on TV? There are nutrition lessons galore, as children are told that they can't have the really yummy things (Captain Crunch) but instead have to get (and eat!) the yukky things, like yogurt for breakfast.
So what does this have to do with Father's Day? A lot, I suppose. My grocery store visit gave me the inspiration for this post, as I saw numerous instances of why we celebrate today. I saw kids picking out donuts and pastries that Daddy would like, often causing long conversations and delays while deciding at the bakery counter. I saw the father's love when he picked up his daughter, who had a pretty visible "accident" and hugged her and told her it would be OK. I saw the same when I saw a dad let his twelve-year-old son pick out which salmon fillets to grill later today a Father's Day meal. And I saw and felt this when I saw a dad having his hand held by a child who still thought that her dad could lift the world.
I am more sensitive than I think I have ever been to the idea of Father's Day. My dad passed away a little more than a year ago, but last Father's Day I was consumed by my own issues and struggles and the day passed by in a blur. Perhaps it was a reverse and perverse version of the song "Cats in the Cradle." Today, as I saw the expressions of and perhaps the meaning of Father's Day, I felt the loss of my dad acutely. I think part of what made me sensitive is that I can't remember similar instances of grocery store love with my dad. It's not that I don't think that they happened--there must have been many such instances. But I don't remember or certainly don't remember enough of them, and that increased my sadness. My dad helped raise us in an era when things like I saw today happened along the way, and were seldom remarked upon or, apparently, remembered. Far more of my dad's love was shown by not being there, by picking up that extra shift, or doing that off the books wiring job for a few bucks. That was the era, that was his generation, and that was my my dad.
I wonder if I am unqualified to relish the day. I have no kids, and while I love and care about children of others, many of those parents roll their eyes and laugh loudly when they see me cringe as their chocolate-faced, sticky-handed little monsters head my way. Ooops, did I really just write that? I love kids. Really. But I think differently. Father's Day isn't just about having someone call you Dad, but perhaps it is more about being able to call someone Dad. And today, I miss being able to do that.
So I have no less reason or responsibility to recognize (and remember) Father's Day. Even if it is only because I used to be able say "dad."
Kenneth R. Tetzloff, December 25, 1925 to April 17, 2008.
"Dad"
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