After a week of absence she gives me this day. After a week of running between our house and the Australians, coming home red in the cheeks and truly happy, she gives it all back to me. For the sake of a day. Fathers day, for the sake of something I am pretty sure Clintons invented to ensure steady trade, for the sake of them, she plays it all out like a tv show for me.
I woke up today to a beautiful breakfast of eggs, mushrooms, toast and veggie sausages. A nice cup of sugary tea. My daughter and son sitting there looking half way excited and half way like bad actors. Little parcels on the table with hand made cards. I kiss the bitch I am so deeply in love with on the cheek and sit down to eat. I cant thank her enough...at least thats what I manage to say through the tight lump in my throat. A glimpse of what it should all be like.
I slurp my tea and watch my daughter swinging in her chair. Her eyes meet mine and we smirk at each other. She's at that age where she sees it all, she knows the deal and we cant hide it from her. Too much Rage Against the Machine and she knows the facade of domestic bliss when she sees it. "Happy Dad day" she says facetiously with that dummy tip of her head to the side. I want to laugh. I really want to laugh and cry. I realise why we connect in that way, because of how angsty I feel, we can almost smell it on each other. The only trouble is that its right for her to feel that at her age and for me...well shouldnt I have grown out of it? Hadn't I grown out of it before all this shit started?
"Thanks" I reply as my son slides over to me, his head on my shoulder as I eat. "Open my present first" he whispers and so I do.
Open the crape paper and what's this I see? Oh my goodness its a giant marble! I do that thing you are supposed to do. I marvel at it with big expressions like a theatre actor. Actually, i admire his choice and I really like it how children dont buy you those conventional dull gifts that you're supposed to get, like socks and shit like that. "Do you like it?" "I love it! You get the best stuff...wonder if i can see the future in this?" I play, holding it out and telling all their fortunes.
"He bought it with his own pocket money" my wife adds and I almost ignore her.
My daughter made a Dr Who Tardis money box! Apparently her woodwork teacher helped her and it really is so cool. She knows I love it and dont have to tell her.
This was my morning. The morning that I deserve for bringing home the veggie bacon. For keeping my shit together and staying loyal and steady for my kids. I deserve this and I enjoy every moment of it, knowing I will wake any second to the reality of my family life.
I look at the cards they made me for too long. I remember them from all their years, birth till now. I think of how precious they are to me and the irony of it is that without them, i wouldnt be a father. I wouldnt be the father that I always wanted to be if it wasnt for the way they love me unconditionally. Today I silently thank them for giving me my position. Thinking this way, i could almost die contented.
By 12.30 my wife is just nipping out...by 1pm i find a packet of rizla in my daughters hoody pocket...by 1.30pm my daughter are sitting in the garden me trying to talk to her seriously and her begging me not to tell her mother about the Rizla. See how they play you. Effortlessly.
By 3pm her mother returns with the australian and I am back at the office on fathers day eating a packet of cheese and onion and thinking of all the other days asleep on the sofa while their wives cook the sunday specialties.