I’ve had nine Father’s Day now (which I may or may not have had to use a pencil and paper to work out).
Nine celebrations of fatherhood to a socially agreed timing.
I think my first Father’s Day - and only one Max’s mum was alive for – was probably my favourite.
I type ‘probably’ as I don’t remember much about it. I still have the gifts I got, a small picture of Max and I in a ‘Superdad’ picture frame and a T-Shirt that said ‘I’ve found Jesus (he was behind the sofa)’ which proves my son had a sense of humour from just six months old.
Like I told the Daily Express last week, every day feels like Father’s Day to me.
I love being a dad.
But I also love a little lie in, like I got on Sunday.
Together with some sweets, pants and socks, a beautifully written poem that was equal parts praise and ridicule, plus a roast dinner with my nearest and dearest.
Max’s cards were lovely too. A handcrafted and well thought out one made at school, and an equally well chosen and apt off-the-shelf number.
“If you were any cooler Dad, well, you’d be…….”
I like that on soooooo many levels.
I even managed to extend Father’s Day by 24 hours having a round of golf with my own old man on Monday morning.
Yeah, and, of course I let him win/make me look like a cave man discovering a golf club for the first time.
Looks like my mate Dan had a great Father’s Day too, and he puts the balance of cynicism versus appreciating family warmth and affection far better than I could.
Hope everyone else had days to rival ours too.