Father’s Day # 2

The timing of Father’s Day weekend was good, or bad, depending upon your view. The ending of soccer left a lot of free time for thinking.

I did not want to be thinking.

I found myself in the van moving towards a place where Tom and I spend time during the courting phase of our relationship. YaYa asked where we were going, but I couldn’t tell him exactly. I didn’t feel as if I was really doing the driving; I was being driven.

We walked around the quaint little town, past all of the rich folks, and in and out of stores where I had no intentions of purchasing anything. Finally, we came to Pizza My Heart. YaYa’s face lit up. “This is where we used to eat with Dad,” he announced. Moments later, we were sitting in Dad’s spot and enjoying a slice of life.

Afterwards, we walked around a bit more. When we were near the van again, YaYa realized that we were at the very spot where the bike path ends. Remembering his rides with his Dad, he asked if we could walk a bit more. We continued walking towards the bike path. YaYa called it replacing his past. I think he meant retracing, but perhaps not.

We ended the day at home eating popcorn and watching a movie. For me, Saturday was enough. I left the dishes on the counter and went up to bed, bracing myself for the real Father’s Day.

On Sunday morning, I awakened to the same exhaustion that has plagued my mornings for what now seems like eternity. I let YaYa sleep, and tried to find enjoyment in the peaceful morning quiet. After the first of two cups of coffee, I finally found enough energy to tackle the dishes left from an evening of laziness. Then it was time to wake YaYa and make our way to church. YaYa asked if people still went to church on Father’s Day. Forcing a smile, I said that this was where we would say our special “hello” to his father as well as God.

The readings from the mass talked about compassion noting that “We receive compassion without cost, and urging that we should give it in the same manner.” Like many other weeks, my cheeks were moist for the majority of the time. There is just something about the environment that sets those tears flowing. Little YaYa hugged me, trying to make it all better.

I couldn’t help but think about the message and wondering if I take more compassion than I give. YaYa continually fixing me is a perfect example. I hugged him back and told him that I was really okay. My tears were a part of my remembering Tom, my stepfather, and all of the other people that have shown us so much love and compassion. I explained this to YaYa and explained that I was just sad that I wasn’t able to give some of it back. He nodded with understanding.

The opportunity for giving, as it turns out, was standing by the parking lot exit with her two children. I watched as everyone drove past her and her “needy family” sign. For me, it was a perfect chance to give a little compassion. I don’t know what led this woman to the point of holding a sign, but at that moment, I didn’t need to know. I reached for a couple of dollars and gave it to the woman. It wasn’t much, but it was something. She thanked me as I drove away.

The rest of the day was sort of empty and meaningless. YaYa and I decided against riding the Dad ride, and watched another movie at home. And soon, the weekend was over. We survived – Father’s Day # 2.