Tag Archives: Father’s Day

Happy Father’s Day, dad

While everyone else is out there spending time with their dads, I’m in here alone, trying not to get too lost in my own sadness. It’s just that, Father’s Day is always pretty dark around my house, because my dad was lost at sea when I was a very young boy.


No, that’s not true at all, my dad never went out to sea, I don’t know why I said that. Sorry dad. I was just trying to beef up your backstory a little bit, make everything a touch more heroic. But the truth is unfortunately pretty mundane. One night my dad went out for a pack of cigarettes, and he never came home.

Again, that’s a lie. My dad didn’t leave us. And he never smoked. I guess I was just trying to make him seem a little cooler, but when I wrote it out and read it back to myself, it’s not cool at all. And if you’re reading this, and your dad actually did the whole, “I’m going out for some smokes” bit and never returned, I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t bring up too many weird memories, I’m sure your dad had his reasons.

And I guess I should apologize for the first part too, if your dad was lost at sea, I wasn’t trying to trivialize your loss, or make fun of what I’m sure had to be a really long and vague process of waiting for answers, coming to terms with the fact that, even though they couldn’t find any wreckage, even though it’s theoretically possible that your dad could have somehow survived, maybe taken refuge on a deserted island somewhere, like in Castaway, you eventually had to force yourself to move on, to let go of that stubborn hope that maybe someday dad would walk through the front door.

I was also going to write this story about how my dad was actually a really famous hockey player from the 1980s, and while he was on a road game thirty years ago, he got my mom pregnant but then disappeared, and so eventually the league had to get involved and they forced my dad to financially take care of us, but only on the condition that we all had to keep his identity a secret.

But imagine if that really happened to you, what would it be like to read some random guy on the Internet making fun of your story? I wouldn’t want that. Even though it’s really unlikely. Is it? Maybe it’s not that unlikely. That’s basically the whole first part of that movie The Place Beyond the Pines. Right? Except instead of hockey it was carnival motorcycle riding.

No, I should just keep it simple. And sincere. Dad, Happy Father’s Day. I still miss you. I can’t believe it’s been over three years since you were taken away from us. If only you’d known about that heart condition, maybe you could have sought treatment, maybe you wouldn’t have died while driving that Jeep Wrangler with your second wife.

At least I have all of your old interviews and championship matches to watch on the Internet whenever I get too sad thinking about how you’re not here with us anymore. I used to get really mad with the fact that I had to share you with the whole world, but it’s just another way that I get to keep your spirit alive. Besides, while the whole world knew you as Macho Man Randy Savage, how many people actually got to call you dad? That’s something nobody can ever take away from me. I love you dad. Happy Father’s Day.

Happy Father’s Day, Mitt Romney!

Happy Father’s Day, to everyone, well, not to everyone, just the dads. I’m thinking of one dad in particular, Mitt Romney. I wrote this way back in October, back when I was positive Mitt Romney was going to be elected President. My mind was racing, full of optimism, firm in the belief that America was about to be given back to the real Americans, finally, a real President.

Mitt Romney Fathers Day

And in my excitement I started writing all of these blog posts, getting way too ahead of myself. Like I wrote one for Christmas, Merry Christmas President Romney. And I wrote a bunch of other premature celebratory essays, congratulations on the best first hundred days of any American presidency, stuff like that. Most of them, well, I was too embarrassed by Romney’s loss, I figured, there’s no way I can put any of these online, I’ll look like a crazy person. So they all wound up in the trash.

But every once in a while I’ll wake up and I’ll be consumed by that awful feeling, radiating outward, from the core of my being. I remember, ugh, Romney didn’t win, we’re still all stuck with that fake President, jeez, the communist, I don’t even want to write his name down, maybe centuries from now we can all forget about him, he won’t leave any mark on history at all. And I get depressed and realize that the world is plunging into socialist hell, and the only thing that cheers me up is reading my old future President Romney blog posts.

Like this one, Happy Father’s Day Mitt Romney. The original title was, Happy Father’s Day, President Mitt Romney. It was all about Mitt, as President, he’d be like America’s father, and, as Americans, we’d all stop saying happy Father’s Day to our real fathers, and for one day only, we’d all get to pretend that Mitt Romney is our actual father.

And Mitt would go along with it also. He’d start this lottery every year, he’d pick one lucky American to be whisked away and dropped off at the White House. For that Father’s Day, the winner of this lottery would actually get to be Mitt Romney’s fifth son (or first daughter) for the whole day. I would win, and they’d print out a whole bunch of official government documents to make it really convincing. Like I’d get a new driver’s license that says, Rob Romney, and he’d hand it to me, President Mitt, and he’d give me the firmest handshake I’ve ever had and he’d say, “Welcome to the family, son.”

We’d head straight to the front lawn of the White House and there’d be all of Mitt’s other sons, they’d all be playing catch. One of them would call out to me, “Hey brother! Catch!” and he’d throw me a glove, a really nice one, it would be inscribed “Rob Romney’s Mitt”, and then Mitt would shout out, “Son! Head’s up!” and the Pres would toss me a wild fly ball. And I’d have to run, it would be a really close catch. Maybe I’d even have to dive, but I’d still catch it.

Huh, I’d think to myself, I would’ve thought Mitt Romney, seeing as how he’s raised five sons, maybe he’d be a little better at throwing pop-ups. But then he’d look at me with that crazy Romney smile, and I’d realize that he threw it like that on purpose, he made me reach down inside, run for that ball, dive for it. That’s the Romney way, doing things for yourself. And as that lesson dawned upon me, I’d look back at my new dad and he’d be laughing and smiling, “That’s right son!” he’d say, “You earned it! You earned that catch!”

Because being Mitt Romney’s sixth son won’t be easy. Nothing in life is. Nothing worth Romneying for, anyway. We’d spend the rest of the day laughing, we’d roughhouse a little, nothing too serious, just a bunch of knuckleheads, me, the President, my five new brothers, and we’d be causing a huge ruckus, laughing, giving each other noogies, and my new mom Mrs. Romney would be standing at the base of the stairs shouting, “Boys! Boys stop this at once!” before giving up, laughing at us, her boys, her seven boys having a wild time, and she’d say something like, “Oh boys!”

But Romney lost. And now he’ll never be my dad. Mitt, if you ever read this, I hope you have a great Father’s Day. If I ever gain access to a time machine, I promise to do everything in my power to try and alter the timeline so that you emerge victorious against the fascist. I love you – can I call you dad? Just right now? Just pretend? I love you dad. I’m sorry you’re not President. If all of the fathers in the world got together to elect a president of all fathers, a Father President, I’m almost positive you’d be elected, and not the other guy.