A Sunday for Fathers

Oddly enough, I forgot to call and wish my father on Father's Day, and I got nothing from my daughter either.

Neither my father nor I will care about this omission.  Life is far greater than formal wishes on a single day. 

My favorite philosopher, Calvin, offers an insight, as he always does, into fatherhood.

Source

Fathers--and mothers too--make mistakes in plenty.  We try our best not to, but we err a lot.  There is, unfortunately, no "undo" ever in parenting.  Thankfully, whatever mistakes my parents made must have been only insignificant; we siblings have turned out alright.

Chances are that as children we made serious mistakes every single day.   Parents overlook most of them.  Sometimes, we also do what Calvin does:

At times, or perhaps lots of times, fathers and mothers can be, ahem, controlling:

They did what they had to do so that we could then enjoy being a kid:

It is not just kids who get to do nothing in the summer; some of us fathers who are on furlough also look forward to the long days of sun and warmth and doing nothing.

Happy Father's Day to me.  Oh, ok, to you too ;)

Fathers and sons ... and daughters too

Whenever other kids talked about their grandfathers, I realized all the more that I didn't know what it meant to have a grandfather.  My father's father died when my father was a 40-day old infant. My mother's father suddenly died of a heart attack when I was barely four years old.

Of course, as kids we grow up in the context that we are in; often we don't know any better.  I think that growing up without a grandfather also was an early lesson for me that people die, and I became more accepting of death.

But, still, it would have been a richer life if at least one grandfather had been around.

My mother and her sisters have nothing but the fondest memories of their father.  In fact, nobody in the extended family had even one small thing to complain about him.  Even my cantankerous grand-uncle, who delighted in making fun of others, spoke highly of this grandfather.  My grandmother was so devoted to him that she died on the anniversary of his death--separated by three decades.

The older my father got, the more he talked about how maybe he should have found out more about his father from grandfather's relatives and college-mates.  But, in the old culture, they preferred not to talk about tragedies like my grandfather's death when he was only a few years into his twenties.  Even if father had attempted to engage in such conversations, I am sure he would have been quickly rebuffed.

A couple of years ago, father commented that perhaps his long life, and the long life that his brother had, was the cosmos compensating them for grandfather's brief existence on this planet. Who knows; our comings and goings continue to be a mystery.

I called up my father to wish him.  "Sunday is Father's Day here in America," I told him.

Father's Day and Mother's Day are alien to the old culture, which always has conveyed to children that parents are more important than even the gods."அன்னையும் பிதாவும் முன்னறி தெய்வம்" we learnt in elementary school.

"Yes, even here they have started with all these Father's Day and Mother's Day," he said.

Of course, as a father, this is my day too.  My daughter, who is traveling in Europe, texted me her greetings.

Recalling my love for "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" is a Father's Day tribute?

It is one of my favorite movies ever.  It is not only because of the fantastic movie it is, or for how uniquely the movie depicted humans and aliens communicating with each other, for Dreyfuss' crazed and possessed looks ... But also because it is a reminder of a glorious time in my childhood.

I was a little more than 15 years old then, and after the written part of the National Talent Search exams, I was one of the few students invited to interview at the Madras campus of the Indian Institute of Technology.  Two other students from my class, Vijay and Krishna, had also gotten to this stage.  The prospect of the interview itself did not excite me as much as the thought that I would be at the fabled IIT campus for some serious, official, business.

Father took me to Madras--yes, that's how the city was called then.  We stayed at the home of my favorite uncle, whose sons were always a delight to hang out with ...

The following day was the big moment at IIT.  But, I didn't care about the interview, and was immensely excited playing cards and cricket with the boys.

The morning came.  We reached the campus and the interview site.

I knew I screwed up my chances because I messed up the first question big time.  If only I had the ability to forget the bad experiences! ;)

The first question was rather simple, compared to the later ones and even though I did well in the ones that followed, I am sure that the "golden duck" was how I lost the honor of the scholarship ... and that simple question was, "what is the maximum value of the tangent of an angle?"

Throughout my school life, my math teachers--right from the earliest days that I can recall--tried their best to help me understand that I needed to pause and think about the questions before I answered them, even when confident of the answer, only because of the remarkably silly mistakes I did while being in a hurry as if I were in a race against the devil.  But, stupid is as stupid does, as I would learn much later from Forrest Gump.  Thus, consistent with that track record of buzzing in the answer almost as a reflex action, I said "one."

That answer bothered me.  If only they had asked me "is that your final answer?"

But, they continued to toss more questions my way, including one where I was required to solve a problem on the chalkboard.  A green board it was, in contrast to the black boards I had been used to.

After I was done, and while exiting the campus, I realized the enormity of erring in that first question itself, which was the simplest of them all.

Perhaps father realized that I was kicking myself for my haste.  He did two things.  First, he took me to the beach.  We then walked over to a restaurant across from the road, where I ordered a cucumber/tomato sandwich.  And then he said we could go to any movie of my choice.  Which is how we went to "Close Encounters of the Third Kind." I think this was at the Satyam complex.

After the movie ended, and as we were exiting, father said, "I didn't understand anything there."

A Father's Day in Costa Rica

After checking in, when chatting with Andreas, I understood he was a father.  I didn't know if he had sons or daughters or how many children he had. He was a dad, and that much I knew.

Andreas looks about my age.  Perhaps I am at a stage in my life that I can relate to the trials and tribulations and joys that fathers go through.  At least a little bit of resonant emotions.

It was Father's Day Sunday.

I wished Andreas a happy Father's Day.

And handed him a bar of Trader Joe's Belgian chocolate.

I almost never, ever travel without those chocolate bars.  When I am alone, they comfort me.  When I am excited, they share that with me. When I want to give somebody, especially students, a gift, those bars are awesome.

Orosi is quite a picturesque town

Once, at a crowded Lufthansa checking-in, a stern young German woman completed the process and handed me the boarding pass.  Thankfully, the paranoid self looked at them to make sure it was kosher. It was a surprise--business class.  A free upgrade!

That was one of the many free upgrades I have had over the years. The pleasures of a free upgrade are immeasurable especially when flying halfway around the world.

When it was time to board the aircraft, I noticed the same young woman verifying the passports and boarding passes.  I dug into my backpack and kept ready in my hand a bar of Trader Joe's chocolate bar.

First, I gave her my passport and boarding pass.  She handed them back to me when she was done.  

I then gave her the chocolate bar and said "thanks."  The stern German simply nodded her head as she accepted it.  True to the German stereotype, not even a smile!

Now, it was another German to whom I gave another chocolate bar.  Andreas was visibly excited, unlike that Lufthansa woman. "Thanks.  It is my son who should give me a gift" he said.

Connie, his wife, chipped in: "he is sleeping and won't get up for a while. I don't think he has any gift for you."

So, there was a son.

The following morning, I saw a young man working with Andreas and Connie.  "You must be the son" I said.

"One of the two" Andreas said.

"Twins" said Connie.

"Thanks for giving my father a gift on my behalf" said the son with a huge grin on his face.

Father and son: Andreas and Sebastian

On Father's Day Gifts

In an episode of the Cosby Show, Cliff Huxtable whines on about how the children put a lot of thought into making their mother feel special on Mother's Day, but that they shop at the last minute for him and get cheap, atrocious gifts.

Yes, fathers all over America, and perhaps in a few other countries too, put on a fake smile when they get boring neckties, yet again, as gifts.  Makes for ah, some--oops, awesome--memories!

A few years ago, my daughter gave me a gift that I certainly would never have bought for myself: A pomegranate face wash. Who woulda thunk that!

I liked it.

It feels very good when I use it. But, I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to use it every day, or once a week, or ... Though the small size that is, perhaps I haven't used it as often as I am supposed to--there is at least a quarter that remains.  (Note to self: use that tonight and look good in the dreams!)

Does that kind of a product have an expiration date? The face wash doesn't seem to have any date printed on it.  Do they not include that information because they don't expect the customer to keep it for such a long time?

More questions.  Now that my hairline is receding fast, the forehead is as large as Texas.  So, does it mean that I can now use this face wash on the balding top that once used to get a shampoo treatment?  If I go fully bald, then do I simply not purchase shampoos and only get face wash for the head too?

Life was simpler when I was a kid.

Help is certainly on the way though; the soap people are already on to helping men like me.  (Note: do not misread that earlier phrase to mean men liking me.  The idea is to only attract women.  At the least millionaires, and preferably multi-millionaires.)

I picked up a product the other day because it promises to make my life really simple.  An Old Spice product that is both a hair and body wash.  So, no need to buy a shampoo, and it is a conditioner too!  I will continue with the Pomegranate face wash until an Old Spice four-in-one product comes along.  I am sure the face wash will last another couple of years, at least.

Now that she is married, perhaps the daughter has a lot deeper understanding of us men.  The gift arrived early as well.  The husband and wife team got me a wonderful Father's Day gift when they yanked out the dying bushes in the front yard, bought lovely new plants, dug holes, planted them, and spread mulch cover too.

I wonder what is in store for next year.  Should I remind them that my car is getting old?  Preempt any possible pomegranate skin cream gift?

Nah. The daughter is the ultimate gift of all. I am a rich man. A balding rich man.