In my “regular” life, I’m a certified athletic trainer. Don’t worry, it mainly means I spend a lot of time around athletes and on some form of playing surface. Every time I walk out on a real grass field, which are difficult to find these days, surrounded by smells of fresh cut grass and dirt, I think of my dad and baseball. Of being little and going to the ballpark. Of eating a hotdog, trying to figure out how to eat peanuts, and if my brother and I were really good, a treat. I loved me some cotton candy. It’s memories like these I think of on Father’s Day. I’m lucky in that I fondly remember growing up and spending most days, not just Father’s Day, with my dad and brother and grandfathers and uncles, watching sports and learning “dude” things.
Then I started thinking, “Where did this celebrated holiday come from?” I searched the Internet and found out Father’s Day wasn’t an actual “thing” until 1910. The governor of Washington proclaimed July 19, 1910 as Father’s Day. President Wilson made Mother’s Day official in 1916, but it took fifty-eight years for Father’s Day to become a national day of celebration. In 1972 President Nixon proclaimed Father’s Day a Federal Holiday at last and more than one billion dollars is spent each year on gifts for the fathers in our lives. Who knew it would take so long?
That brings us back to the upcoming weekend. We each choose to honor our father or father figures in the way that best fits them. In my case it’s usually to barbecue something that Dad likes and let him watch his baseball game in peace without my running commentary. I’m always looking for injuries; I can’t help it.
So on Sunday, make sure to take the time to tell that special someone thank you. Be it your dad, step-dad, brother, uncle, grandfather and now even mom. Thank them for teaching you the all-important dude things in life. I know without my dad I wouldn’t be where I am today.
Take me out to the ball game | Take me out to the crowd | Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks | I don’t care if I never get back
Let me root, root, root for the home team | If they don’t win it’s a shame | For it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out | At the old ballgame
Tami Vahalik has been a certified athletic trainer for over fifteen years fixing owies and boo boos and taping ankles for athletes ranging from the pros to minis and working with over twenty-five different sports and activities. In other words, she gets paid to get a tan and be in an ever changing environment that’s oozing story ideas. Nights, when she can still function, she writes really dirty stories that include the World she lives in. Under a pen name of course, but shhhh, don’t tell. She’s a member of San Diego RWA® and in 2017 she will be continuing her chapter service as President.