No doubt across schools in Australia this morning Father’s Day festivities are taking place. A breakfast or a mass perhaps; all the children together to give a collective “well done” to their dads.
My kids were more excited than Mr M. Not that Mr M doesn’t enjoy being celebrated and given a pat on the back for his paternal role, but he knows the kids love him every day of the year.
At school the kids get to write a poem, draw a portrait or make paper tie (Mr M doesn’t ever wear ties; his work environment is jeans and t-shirt attire).
I don’t remember ever celebrating Father’s Day at school. And to be honest, I glad.
I vaguely remember Mother’s Day stalls but nothing for Father’s Day. Or maybe I’ve just blocked it from my memory.
My father and I pretty much have a biological relationship only. He was (and still is) an old fashioned strict Greek father who only interacted with his kids when then was punishment to be served.
Now I’m not going to go on about my father. I’ve dealt with all those issues and I don’t need to revisit them here.
But I do know if at school I were asked to write something nice about my father, I would have choked on my words. It’s a hell of a presumption that everything is fine and dandy.
My father however did serve one purpose; and that was to firmly know what kind of father I didn’t want for my children. And I am pleased to say that I have not failed in that task.
Not only is Mr M a good dad to his kids, he makes me want to be a better mum too.
Happy Father’s Day Mr M. You do good work.