Sunday, June 9, 2013

Father's Day

This is my Sunday mug.

The kettle plays the harmonica instead of whistling.


On Sundays, this is what I drink my morning cuppa out of. Only this mug. Others are allowed to use it, but I must have it on Sunday. It's from my Dad.

Years ago one Christmas (I think I was a very young teen or nearly so) Dad gave Mom and me both this mug (it also has a matching lid). At the time, it was simply one of the most elegant things I'd ever seen, and drinking my tea out of it seemed somehow more special. I felt very sophisticated and grown up using it, especially when I was brewing real (read loose) tea.

Move ahead a few years, post-college graduation and my entrance to full-time work. As a last-minute riser on workdays, I reverted back to the use of tea bags on the weekdays for expediency. (Also, the morning rush meant no time to really savor the good stuff.)

Weekends, though, were and are a different story. Weekends I look forward to putting the kettle on, getting out the tea basket, and making a REAL cup of tea, one to sip slowly and really enjoy. And along the way, part of this ritual became using this Chinese mug from Dad on Sunday. I do not remember exactly when this started, but it's safe to say I've been sipping my Sunday tea out of my Sunday mug for at least 20 years.

I woke up this morning thinking about that and about Dad. I'm sure you think your dad is the best, and you should because, after all, he's your dad. However, in actuality, my dad is the best dad. After all, who but The Best Dad would:
  • Endure his six-year-old repeatedly shaking her Lazy Daisy baby doll in his face while singing "I'm the greatest, the greatest, I'm the greeeeeaaatest"?
  • Drag his reluctant daughter with him to the hardware store, but then make it fun by swinging her as they walked, and then played hide and seek in the aisles at Hechinger?
  • Eat college-aged me's triumphant first spaghetti dinner, consisting of jarred sauce with some fresh mushrooms added, and act like it was a culinary masterpiece?
  • On my parents first visit to me after I bought my first home, a 60-year-old townhouse with a postage stamp-sized yard, surprise me by bringing me a bag of flower bilbs and tubers from his garden so that I could start my own?
  • Be there, always, to save the day or just provide the support needed so that I could save myself?
  • Set an example of true manhood so that I would know better than to settle for a man who was not good, generous, funny, caring, and loving, and would know immediately when I met the right one?

I could write pages more about him, but instead I will simply raise my Sunday mug and toast the best dad a girl could ever have. Happy Father's Day, Daddy!

Luzya,

"Priscilla"

2 comments:

  1. Beautiful post dear. Only one problem......father's day is Next Week.
    -Mulch

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  2. Well. It sure isn't, is it? All week Mom has been reminding me, "Call your dad this Sunday for Father's Day, I'm making xxxx plans for Sunday for Father's Day, don't forget Sunday." The Queen Mother led me astray!

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