Father’s Day

Once a year on Father’s Day, I like to renew my vow to my children, that I will continue to the best of my abilities, to inflict upon them, the most awful dad jokes, groan-inducing puns and embarrassing anachronisms that I am able to muster from the darkest recesses of my rapidly dwindling mind. Though humiliation and the inevitable erosion of my own self-esteem are my only rewards, I shall not rest upon this path until my hand is stayed by death or the sudden need to take a nap in my recliner (preferably snoring loudly with my mouth wide open and in the presence of house guests).

I pray that one day in the future when I’m gone and my ashes have been scattered in our back garden for all the local cats to do their business in – my children will look back with a certain fondness upon the days that I used to pick them up from school in my bathrobe and slippers, and will in time come come to appreciate the unrelenting grit, determination and creativity that was constantly demanded of me in my daily quest to be the absolute, greatest embarrassment to them that I could possibly be.

© Gordon Webster