Listen to Your Father . . .

Father's Day is fast approaching. I know this because of the volume of advertising I hear on my radio show (about half the volume of Mother's Day, but that's a whole different blog). Also, I am a father. So I have been asked repeatedly by my kids if I can loan them some money. Just kidding. They don't ask repeatedly.They get their mom to do it. But shortly after Mother's Day the "one-who-must-be-pleased" will start random conversations with, "So, what do you want for Father's Day? Besides that, I mean?". And I always tell her the same thing . . . nothing.
And I mean it.

I'll bet your father/husband/grandfather/significant other says the same thing. And you know what? They mean it, too.I know. It's a big pain in the patootie. But you have to remember, before we dads became dads we were men. And when men need something (and by "need" I mean "want") we just buy it. That's how we roll.
So this year, I'm going to suggest you do something radical, nay, revolutionary. Unheard of. Unspeakable. Without precedent.
I'm going to suggest . . .  that you actually listen to your father. And get him nothing.
Now, hear me out.
I know you love your dad and want to show him how much he means to you. But part of accepting the role of father is knowing that there's a bit of "unsung hero" in the job description. And we're okay with that. We actually prefer to display all our dad superpowers, like vanquishing monsters from under the bed and turning sofa pillows into castles, quietly and far from the spotlight. So, moms get far more attention on Mother's Day? You think that happened by accident? All part of the plan.
Now, don't get me wrong. Dads like presents as much as the next guy who maybe isn't a dad. And I'm sure your dad has loved every single present you've ever given him. Except for that one tie. You know the one I mean. But dads are notorious for knowing the value of a dollar and how hard those dollars are to come by, especially these days. I remember when I was a kid asking my dad for a couple of bucks and having him look at me like I just demanded he surrender a kidney. In fact, an internal organ would have been more forthcoming than a twenty, trust me. But just because he was, shall we say, "fiscally conservative" doesn't mean he wasn't generous, to a fault. Christmas and birthdays? My siblings and I were treated like royalty.
Now, I know you're shaking your head as you read this but it's true . . .  your dad would rather you NOT spend your money on him. He would much rather you spend your time.
Yup, Dad just wants you to hang out with him on Father's Day. So let him decide how he wants to spend "his day" and then, just tag along. Sporty dad? Take him bowling or to a Tides game or racing at Langley Speedway. Movie-loving dad? "To Kill a Mockingbird", "Field of Dreams" and "Parenthood" are all great "dad" movies (but don't be surprised if he gets "something in his eye" while watching). Fishing, tennis, golf, antique cars, Star Wars collectibles, Civil War reenactor . . . whatever your dad is into, share it with him on Father's Day. Then, treat him to a nice meal (home cooked or at his favorite joint) and, this is critically important, pick up the tab. He'll probably tell you to "put your money away" and protest, but truth be told, it's a bit of an act. He'll appreciate the novelty of not having to pay, at least this one time a year.
So that's it, the secret to a perfect Father's Day. No expensive trinkets, no hoopla, no big "deal". Which is exactly what your dad, any dad, wants. And that goes for your baby daddy, too. I know, you just want to show your dad how much you love him.
Believe me, he already knows.
Because just by being a dad, we've been showered by our children with gifts beyond measure. The hugs and kisses of a "Daddy's home!" front door greeting. The sleepy whispered "I love you, Daddy" after bedtime stories. The catch in the backyard, the tea parties with Barbie, allowing us to be the big kid we know we still are inside, at least for a little while. Teaching them how to ride a bike, how to drive a car. Seeing the world again through their eyes as they grow, the wonder and the magic, along with the hurt and heartache we so desperately want to keep from them. And the pride in the kind and smart and interesting people they become as they set off on their own.
Every single moment, a treasure. Which for me, makes every day Father's Day.
"But I can't give my dad NOTHING!", you protest. And you're right. You can't.
Because if every time your dad thinks of you and what you've brought to his life, his world, he smiles . . . you've already given him everything he ever wanted.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I seem to have something in my eye.

Paul & Kathy's Excellent European Adventure, Day 1:

So, how did I end up strapped to an impossibly skinny chair 30,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean, surrounded by loud talkers and even louder shirts?

I blame my wife.

Our retired friends Tim and Susan have spent the last ten years plying the waterways of Europe each summer aboard their boat, the Adagio. Every fall when they return they regale us with their travels and invite us to join them sometime.

And every year I politely decline.

Not that I've never dreamed of visiting the Continent. And I always felt bad for Kathy because I knew she would do it in a heartbeat (she having an adventurous spirit and my idea of daring being not washing my hands before eating). But even with the generous hospitality of our hosts, getting to Europe ain't cheap, if you haven't noticed. You can't drive. Teleportation hasn't been invented yet. And boats take too long. And sink. Just ask Jack and Rose.

But this year Tim and Sue surprised us with the announcement that they had pretty much sailed everywhere they wanted to sail and were planning to sell their boat sometime this season. If we were ever to join them, it would have to be now. 

And that's how I found myself drinking Jim Beam in the clouds.

We had already scheduled a week off in May and had planned to visit one of our favorite places, Asheville, North Carolina (motto: "Where the living is right and the politics ain't."). But we found airfares online that only cost an arm (leaving us both legs for all that walking we'd do) and decided to embrace "The Spirit of Adventure", just like the old guy in "Up".

Of course now that our journey has actually begun, I'm starting to wish that we'd simply attached a gazillion balloons to our chimney.

We chose to fly out of Washington, D.C., because the fares were more reasonable but mostly because you can't actually fly anywhere out of Norfolk. Oh, they SAY, you can, but no matter what it says on your ticket you always end up in Orlando (not that there's anything wrong with that). 

Our flight out of Dulles International Airport didn't depart until 5:20 on a Sunday afternoon but knowing I-95 the way we do we decided to leave Virginia Beach at 9:00 AM sharp, which turned out to be a rare moment of lucidity for us. Everything was fine until we reached Fredericksburg and then it was a slow crawl all the way to our Nation's Capitol. We spent another 20 minutes trying to pay the toll on the road to Dulles (six lanes: two EZ Pass, three "Coins Only", ONE with an actual minimum-wage employee collecting actual money. "Coins Only"? For a $2.50 toll?? Who carries TEN quarters around in their pocket, a Pac-Man junkie from 1982?). 

We parked in an Economy Lot somewhere west of Wheeling, WV, hopped a free shuttle bus that circled aimlessly for 30 minutes and finally arrived at the Dulles terminal. 

Boarding, baggage check-in and TSA Full Body Screening went by uneventfully and with a few minutes to spare we decided to have lunch. And by "lunch" I mean "drinks".

We headed to our gate and hoped to find someplace nearby with a valid liquor license. If you're not familiar with the Dulles terminal, here's how to get where you're going:

1) Ask a friendly Dulles International Airport customer service agent how to get to your gate.

2) Following their directions, walk approximately four miles.

3) Ask another Dulles International Airport customer service agent how to get to your gate because you are lost.

4) Walk another four miles as the first Dulles International Airport customer service agent didn't know "what the HELL she was talking about".

5) Take an airport train from the main concourse to your terminal.

6) Exit train, and proceed (by walking, again) to your gate, which appears to be even further away then when you started. ("Oh, the trains? Yeah, we just take you out to the end of the runway and let you walk back. It's a little inside joke. Plus, walking is good for you, fat ass.")

We finally reached our gate and found a place to get a little something to eat and a whole lot to drink. 

I think the reason airport restaurants are so tiny and cramped is so that when you finally get on the plane your seat won't look so Lilliputian. 

Let me say that if you're flying overseas, steal your kids' college fund money and pay for Business or First Class. On a United Airlines Boeing 767-300, the seats in Economy Class (aka "Steerage") are approximately the same size as a first grader's desk, only not as comfortable. They don't call it "legroom" because an actual full-grown adult leg will not fit in the available space, unless your knees bend the other way. I believe the airline industry term is "Femur Space". 

We were seated in row 32 A and B, window and aisle (good) right between the Incredibly Fussy Baby and the Equally Incredibly Flatulent Man (not so much).  

Our scheduled departure time: 5:20.

Our actual departure time: 6:00. 

We'd been on board and belted into our infant seats for over an hour and hadn't even made it to the runway, let alone Amsterdam.

I know. Whine, whine, whine.

I'm reminded of comedian Louis C.K.'s take on flying. He admonished us not to complain about the petty annoyances about the miracle of man-made flight. 

Sure, I'm trapped in a steel tube for eight hours and I've lost all feeling in my lower extremities, but when I'm finally carried off by trained medical personnel, I'll be I

in a whole OTHER COUNTRY on a WHOLE DIFFERENT CONTINENT. 

I should just shut up now.