A couple weeks ago some readers got a chuckle out of my rant on stupid “Life Hacks.” My editor enjoyed my “grumpy voice” so much that she sent me a gift: a book called 101 Things That Piss Me Off, by Rachel Ballinger. I did ask her for inspiration. She said, “Since you’re so crabby, write me a piece on what you don't want for Father’s Day.”
I pondered this request, but it didn’t sit well. I didn’t want to write a mean-sounding piece about well-meaning gifts from those who love me most. Yes, I am responsible for two little lives, and I'm the King of their little worlds. Granted, I'm outranked by the Queen and the Princess, but on certain days I might get my son to follow my commands. But Father’s Day is my day, and that means that on Father’s Day, we do what I want to do… as long as my wife wants to do it too.
And there are gifts. Not all of my past Father’s Day gifts stand out in my mind. Last year my daughter made me a tiny bottle of barbecue sauce in her preschool class, and I remember that it tasted pretty good (as I tried to push from my mind, the thought of 15 preschool hands in my sauce, in an unregulated, non-commercial kitchen). This is not to say that I haven’t received some nice Father’s Day gifts, it’s just that parenthood has a way of erasing your memory. This is biological feature that early humans developed so that they’d actually have a second child.
Gift giving is a perilous activity in our family. I’ve given some winners, but the losers always tend to stand out. We’re not one of those families who celebrates birthdays for a month, and sometimes we just go on a trip and don’t do presents at all.
To look at me you’d think, “Get this guy a tie or a three-iron, and he’s set.” But I stopped wearing ties around the same time I stopped golfing. I’m an old-fashioned Weber/charcoal griller, so I don’t need a smoker that’ll hold an entire sow. Tools are a nice option, but let’s be honest: I use them about as often as my wife puts on the lingerie I buy her.
Probably the most “traditional” Father’s Day gift I’ve received came three years ago. About a week before the big day, my wife asked me what I wanted. I had admired a friend’s handy little cooler that kept things cold for hours. Long story short, my wife presented me with a gleaming white bear-proof Yeti cooler, complete with clip-on cup holder. Wow, that thing is beautiful. And, as of yet, no bear has stolen from me.
Being new to the luxury cooler business, I had no idea that this thing literally cost more than my refrigerator. When I found out how much it set us back I was embarrassed. I had no idea that you could spend this much money on a cooler. This was not just something that would keep beer cold cold for seven days (granted, it can’t hold much more than a 12-pack), this cooler was a status symbol. It came with a Yeti sticker to put in the back window of my F-150 next to my Salt Life logo (or next to the North Shore Elementary School magnet on the minivan that I actually own). The true irony of this situation is that the thing is so heavy, that once laden with food and beverage, I am literally forbidden by my doctor from lifting it. So it sits in the corner of my garage, seething with jealousy as the Walgreens cooler goes out on another beach outing.
Clearly, I have an awesome wife who knows how to give a gift. She might point out that I have a sketchy track record on gift giving. She has made it clear that she does not need another piece of lingerie. I’m no fool… these gifts are for me, and I try to find the right balance of sexiness with practicality. I hit a home run with a long silk night-gown that I bought at a fancy downtown boutique. She wore that thing regularly until our daughter got gum stuck on it. But her drawer is full of things I bought under the mistaken impression that I lived in the Playboy Mansion.
My biggest misstep was a pajama set that — on Amazon — appeared to be nothing more than a pair of tight pants and a form fitting shirt – appropriate for our mild winter. Now dubbed the “Jolly Green Giant” pajamas, they took weeks to arrive because they were shipped by ocean freighter from China. And when my wife pulled them on, they resembled green full-body pantyhose. This was before Lululemon cornered the market on accidentally transparent clothing. She was something out of Marvel Comics, in a see-through, PG-13 costume failure. In my defense, she did find them handy as long underwear on a camping trip.
Of course, Father’s Day is not only for me, as I also have to get something for my dad. A few years ago I ordered him a book I knew he would love. When I called to wish him a happy Father’s Day I asked him how he liked the gift. He said, “I like it just as much as when you bought it for me for my birthday.”
So how do you shop for Father’s Day? For me, mix in some food and tell me that I don’t have any chores or errands to run. A brunch, a beach, a brewery. A bike ride, a boat, a baseball game. Just think of the letter B and you can’t go wrong. Don’t get me a romper or detachable man-bun, and most of all, please don’t get me something that requires assembly. Honestly, Dad wants everyone to be happy. Because, as they say, “If Dad’s not happy, at least make sure Mom is happy.”
When Jonathan Kile isn't attempting to read and listen to an audiobook at the same time, he encourages you to check out his adventure thriller, The Grandfather Clock, which is currently ranked the #1, no, #8 #20 Free Adventure/Suspense eBook on Amazon Kindle. The sequel, The Napoleon Bloom, will be out in 2016 2017. He promises. Jonathan gets his email at jkilewrites@gmail.com.
This article appears in Jun 15-22, 2017.
