One evening not so long ago my husband unexpectedly made the following announcement: "One day, if someone asks what you remember most about your father, I want you to say that your father ate french fries with a fork and that he was a member of SABR." Our sons groaned. Both of those character traits are the cause of good-natured teasing from the rest of the family.
My husband does eat french fries with a fork. He always has. When we pointedly use our fingers to dunk our french fries in gobs of ketchup, he stubbornly reaches for a fork.
We just don't get it.
Then, as an active member of SABR (Society of American Baseball Research), my husband studies the history of baseball. SABR sends publications on a monthly basis: biographies, baseball stories, stats . . . lots and lots of stats. Many times he'll receive books that are nothing but charts (batting averages, etc.), and he will sit and read those books as if they were novels.
None of us get this, either. While our sons share the love of golf with their father, and while they will cheer together for Penn State, they absolutely draw the line at baseball. And since I am a literary person without a Math gene to speak of, it always astonishes me that he can read a book containing numbers instead of words.
And yet . . . my husband is very wise. I have no doubt that our sons will always be confident of their father's love, and the young men they are growing to be is due in a very big way to their father. They will have scores of memories with him: trips to the Outback Bowl, learning to change oil in the car, wiffle ball in the street, homemade rootbeer floats. But by pointing out to them these two specific character traits, they can hold on to (and remember) the uniqueness that makes their father . . . their Dad.
French fries with a fork? Yup. An active member of SABR? You bet.
"That's our Dad. He's the best."
Happy Father's Day!
Bia & the boys