What do Rodney Dangerfield and Father's Day Have in Common?

And so another Father's Day is upon us. Neither as commercial as Mother's Day nor as flashy as the Fourth of July, Father's Day is a bit of a second hand holiday. If the truth be told, Father's Day may get more respect than Rodney Dangerfield, but probably not much. Let's face it: Father's Day is no Easter parade. It's probably not even a Memorial Day picnic in the park.

But it IS a time for us to honor our dads, and that's good enough for me.

Maybe we shouldn'tt really need a special day to let our fathers know that they matter, but at least it reminds us to notice. It prompts us to recognize what our dads do for us, and what they mean to us. Ideally, it gives us a formal occasion to pay tribute to the sacrifices they've made, and to express gratitude for the ways in which they've enriched our lives.

If you're expecting a child, or are a new dad, this day holds special meaning for you. For the first time you're able to glimpse what your father has been through, and it's liable to change your perspective a bit.

Here's to you, Dad.

Fatherhood was important to my dad. That was clear to us even as kids. When, after a long week at the office, other dads went out golfing on the weekend, our dad took us on family outings. I think he determined, early on, to be a presence in our lives. To be involved as much as possible, given the demands of being the sole breadwinner.

We'd go hiking and exploring, or on camping trips with Indian Guides. Later, my father served as Assistant Scout Master for my Boy Scout troop. He taught Sunday school, and he attended swim meets, football games and school concerts. I can see now that he taught by example. He led the same way. Despite a distant father of his own, he instilled a sense of caring and compassion in his sons. He didn't scold us for crying in public, but he did demonstrate the value of control.

At a time when the nation was undergoing upheaval in the struggle for civil rights, my parents invited a soldier into our home for Thanksgiving. We joined in welcoming this stranger to our celebratory table, because that's what you do for a lonely man who is far from home during a family holiday. That he was a stranger, and a black man, mattered not. We prayed together before the bounteous feast, then shared good food and companionship. That was what mattered: togetherness and sharing.

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