Can I get a do-over for Father's Day?

by Phil Stott

Am I ever glad that Father's Day is over.  Maybe it's because I live on Long Island, where the weather ruined just about every plan I could've made for the day (not to mention most of the month of June): not only did it prevent me from road-testing the new barbecue tools that showed up gift-wrapped in the morning, it also ruined the tradition I had going of watching the final round of the US Open. And, on top of all that, we had to make a trip to the mall. On a Sunday afternoon. To return stuff. Not the most fun that can be had on a day held in your honor, let me tell you.

Still, it's not like it was all bad. The lie-in was most appreciated, as were the gifts, the special breakfast (calories on top of calories, dusted with sugar, and some apple thrown in for the pretence of health), and the entire concept of the day, which my wife did her best to ensure was all about me (hence the tradition of watching golf all day-no way that'd fly any other day of the year!). My biggest problem was that no-one told Maeve. Far from treating the day as one where Dad gets to relax and put in some solid time molding his shape into the couch cushions, she took it as an opportunity to put her little personality into overdrive.

Sure, parts of it were cute: like the 30 minute journey to the mall, where she serenaded my wife and I with a song about how the muffins were all gone. (It went something like "muuufffffiiiiinnnn, muuuuffffffiiiiiinnnnn, mmmmuuufffffffiiiiiiinnnn, all gone"-not exactly Lennon and McCartney, but not bad for a 19-month old that hasn't so much as seen a muffin in over a week.) Parts of it, though, were downright awful. Like the high-pitched-and high-volume-screaming that seemed to start the second we got into the mall, and didn't end until we were home. And we're not talking a typical meltdown here either-it was more like a campaign of sustained psychological warfare; like she knew that what she was doing was pushing our buttons, and wanted to see how far she could take it. You could see it in her eyes, not to mention the way she'd stop just long enough for you to conjure up the possibility of a thought that wasn't solely about her screaming, and then let out another ear-piercer.

I don't rank Maeve as a particularly high-maintenance child, but there are days where, like most kids, she can be a little tougher than usual. Then there are days where it seems like there's nothing you can do to make her happy. Then there are days like Father's Day, where you wonder how anyone ever coined the old rhyme about girls being made of "sugar and spice and all things nice." Unless the spice is grade A chili, and "all things nice" includes some seriously sour vinegar, of course!

Because of all of that-and because I suspect I wasn't alone in actually having to be more of a proper hands-on Dad on Father's Day than on just about any other day this year-I'm declaring a whole new holiday aimed at a pretty specific sub-group. It's called the "Father's Day Do-Over," and can be taken in the event of the original holiday being a washout. Recommended activities include scheduling it around a can't-miss sporting event (I'm thinking the Wimbledon final, but that'll depend if my countryman Andy Murray makes it or not), and getting someone else to look after the kids for the day. Who knows, if it's a success, maybe I'll roll it out to include other holidays. While it typically wouldn't extend as far as second sets of gifts, it could definitely be invoked if you make the mistake of giving your wife a new iron or kitchen implement for Christmas or a birthday. And it would definitely be on the cards for Thanksgiving; who doesn't want the opportunity to add another food coma onto their calendar?