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by Rich McDowell

Father’s Day. A day to look forward to or a day to dread? Just another Sunday or a day to remember? To most dads I talked to, Father’s Days are just a blur. A blip on the memory screen.

Really now, what’s so special about this day? We make a big to do about Mother’s Day, and rightfully so. They’re the ones running the household, taking care of the kids — at least in my era. But we fathers, well, we were just around.

So the roses, the fancy cards, the special dinners or breakfasts in bed — that’s a mom thing. For dads, you get, “Hey Dad, happy Father’s Day.”

“Thanks kid.”

“Want to go fishing?”

“Sure, why not,” you reply, preferring perhaps to be on the golf course or in front of the TV watching golf or a baseball game, knowing that if you go fishing, you’ve got to get the rods and reels out, clean them (haven’t been used since last Father’s Day), find the tackle box, probably buy fishing licenses. You get the point. Besides, all along you’re thinking, “Hallmark, you’ve done it again, got another holiday to sell cards on.”

Of course you’d be wrong. We have Mrs. John B. Dodd of Washington to thank for Father’s Day. She wanted a special day to honor her father, William Smart, a Civil War veteran. He raised six kids by himself on a rural farm in Washington state after his wife died in childbirth.

The first Father’s Day was observed on June 19, 1910 in Spokane, Wash. At about the same time in various towns and cities across America other people were beginning to celebrate a “Father’s Day.” In 1924 President Calvin Coolidge supported the idea of a national Father’s Day. Finally in 1966 President Lyndon Johnson signed a presidential proclamation declaring the third Sunday of June as Father’s Day.
Now you know.

Asked about a memorable Father’s Day, I drew a blank. So I turned to The Daughter, Maria, also known as BRAINIAC for her ability to store and retrieve arcane family history. Not even she could help in this instance, although she managed to bring up some of my less sterling moments of fatherhood.

“Dad, do you remember that day when we were driving along the coast highway in California and Todd and I were fighting, so you stopped the car and made us get out and then you drove off?” she said. Or, “Remember that hike we went on up the mountain in New York and I didn’t want to go any farther, so you left me behind?”

No wonder I don’t recall any memorable Father’s Days.

As I was becoming desperate, my spouse reminded me of the camping trip from hell that just happened to fall on Father’s Day. This is another; “Hey Dad, we’ve got a great day planned for you!” (see fishing above). “We’re going to celebrate Father’s Day by going camping over the weekend.”

This was in Germany in 1976. The only TV shows Armed Forces Network covered in those days were reruns of such sitcoms as “Gilligan’s Island,” “Father Knows Best,” and “Happy Days.” So a chance to get away from the apartment did have some appeal.

Friday night, dear old dad packed the pop-up camper. Now most of you, when you think of pop-up campers, think of today’s pop-up campers that have built in kitchens, restrooms, air conditioning, the whole nine yards.

My pop-up camper was a box on wheels. The plastic top went up on spring-loaded arms. We unfolded the 5/8-inch marine plywood beds, one in each direction, put the legs down and stretched the canvas over them. If we wanted space to do anything else, we had to put up a canvas attachment that was about four feet deep, so not a lot of moving around room. Enough for a small propane stove and a small table that could seat two.

Okay, Saturday morning, we pull into a campground along the Rhine River, and just as we get the trailer unhitched, the rain comes. Have you ever sat in a four-byeight- foot canvas box for two straight days with two kids, one of whom couldn’t even walk yet? Move and you get wet. Sit still and you get wet. The trips to the outhouse became major expeditions. There was a lot of whining, mostly from me.

Plus there were the thoughts of packing up the wet canvas, and then reopening the camper, hoping the sun would eventually shine to dry the camper out once we got home.

About midday on Sunday, the rain turned to a light mist, so Todd and I ventured down to the river with our waterlogged worms. He caught a fish. We took it back to the camper, cleaned it, cooked it and ate it. “This is the best Father’s Day ever,” he beamed. And so it was. Now how could I forget that?

Tomatoes pop into Dr. Phillip Rogers’ mind when the subject of Father’s Day comes up. Thirty-five years ago, Rogers began giving his dad tomato plants every Father’s Day. He’d present the plants, along with their proper botanical name, history of the plant and a description. His dad would then plant the tomatoes and at the end of the summer the Rogers clan would gather for a tomato tasting feast, rating each tomato and presenting proper tomato awards.

But his most poignant memory was of a Father’s Day that they celebrated shortly after he finished medical school. “My father was orphaned when he was 13-years-old,” Rogers said.

Rogers says his father went to work for his older brother, digging ponds on the various farms around Lebanon Junction, Ky. Because of that he wasn’t able to finish high school. “That’s why he pushed education,” Rogers said, noting that of the six children, all earned college degrees and four, advanced degrees.

As Rogers was finishing medical school, a cousin, who was an attorney, told Rogers that he was helping his dad study for the GED, something Rogers’ dad thought he was keeping secret. In fact the day he went for his exam he told his wife that he was “going to play poker with the boys.”

When a letter from the Kentucky board of education arrived at the home, Rogers’ dad opened it, looked at it and threw it into the trash, but his wife surreptitiously pulled it out. It was a letter congratulating the senior Rogers for passing his GED.

That Father’s Day his dad came to Atlanta to visit. All the brothers and sisters and other members of the Rogers family were present. “Out came a cake and we held a graduation party for him. It was an emotional day, to say the least,” Rogers said.

The U.S. Navy helped Moses Skaff celebrate Father’s Day of 1969 with a bang. The Skaffs were running a dairy farm in Jacksonville, Fla. at the time. Skaff said he was going about his business when he heard a large boom by the fuel pumps. Thinking one of them might have exploded, he went out to check. What he found was the canopy and ejector rod from a jet from the nearby naval air station.

He learned later that the back-seater had leaned forward, catching his sleeve on the ejector lever, releasing the canopy and ejector rod. “It landed 20 feet from the fuel pumps,” Skaff said. “If it had hit one, I might not be here today.”

Skaff told his dad parts of a jet had landed on their farm. “He didn’t believe me,” Skaff said, so I took him out there. “I guess you were telling the truth boy,” the father said. All the son could think of in reply was, “Happy Father’s Day.”

Fatherhood hit home on Rick McKibben’s first Father’s Day. His son, Jay was born January 21, 1997. That Father’s Day the Ledger-Enquirer sought out new dads and interviewed them about being fathers. “It was a front page article with a picture of me holding my son in the air,” he said.

McKibben said that having to think of answers to the reporter’s questions made him examine his new role in life. He had suddenly transformed from being a husband, to being a husband and father. “At first I was excited about having my first child, but as I thought about it, I began to feel the weight of new responsibilities I’d never felt before,” he said. “It was a time to reflect on how my priorities and perspective on life had just changed.”

Now the father of two sons, he says he frequently reflects on what being a dad is all about. “I recognize the role I play in pointing them in the right direction, setting the good example, preparing them so they will be successful when they become adults.” McKibben said he thinks ultimately he’s up to the task, thanks to the examples his father set for him.

And for those dads who are wondering if they’re being good fathers, take heart from what Bill Cosby has to say: “If the new American father feels bewildered and even defeated, let him take comfort from the fact that whatever he does in any fathering situation has a 50 percent chance of being right.”