who cares?

Fathers Day, with no apostrophe or apology

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Aging is interesting. Not to the young, of course, but there is a point in everyone’s life when we “suddenly” realize we are aging, if not “aged”. It is what happens after the realization we will talk about, here.

Fathers Day 2026 was an interestingly humorous celebration.

I probably learned about Fathers Day way back in The Early Years. Fathers Day was first proposed in 1909 in response to Mother’s Day.* Fathers Day was officially “recognized” in 1966 by Lyndon Johnson, and Richard Nixon made it a National Holiday in 1972. I was unaware of these dates because in 1963 I was learning how to shelter under a wooden desk if nuclear missiles were headed to upstate New York.** In 1972, I was either drunk, blazed, or courting the second or third “love of my life”. Honoring dad was the last thing on my mind. It didn’t help the holiday that my father and I had a unique relationship during my 1960’s teen years, and I wouldn’t have honored him, anyway.

It’s safe to use “aging” as an excuse for not remembering the first time Father’s Day caused my day to be about someone other than me.

But here’s the thing: the concept of unimportance has floated through my conscience many times over the last few months. It started with the China documentary where the repeated cycles of Dynasties rising and falling over hundreds of years led to millions of people—perhaps billions—dying simply because they were of the wrong family, cult, religion, or geographic area. What was important to those people? Did they have scrapbooks of family photos to pass down to survivors? Were their deaths heroic? Were there any survivors? Did they have special days for Fathers and Mothers?

And then there is politics…the rise of one party, the decline of another, and the passing of time making us forget all about The Whigs of the 1830s-1950s. And remember when Republicans were Democrats and Democrats were Republicans? And who can forget The Teapot Dome Scandal and Tammany Hall shenanigans, corruption at its finest. You remember, right?

Of course, you don’t. It doesn’t matter, now. Any of it. So what does matter?

National Geographic put out a wonderful chart detailing the rise and fall of “civilizations” through the ages. The Romans. The Incas. The Mayans, The Greeks. What do they all have in common? They’re gone, and we dig in the earth to find about as much as we can about them so we can…make the same mistakes?

It isn’t the rest of the World that forgets the lessons of the past, it is us, individually. We don’t pay attention. Even worse, we have the hubris to think we are smarter than The Romans. Even smarter than the Greeks.*** And we work harder than the Mayans. And we know better what to do with the Land than The Mohicans.****

It was Fathers Day last Sunday and the current local family met for burgers, beers, hot dogs, potato salad, and farting around the table. Of note, there were two whole barbecued chickens none of us had room for, even after passed gas made more space.

But as I sat there, watching kids, grand-kids, and talking about a great-grand-kid 1,100 miles away, the idea of how temporary life is swung into view with a thud. I’ve personally known over 50 Fathers Days, thanks to a young marriage and fatherhood. Is there any difference from the first to the last? And how many will the young people around the table experience?

I’m not sure where this essay is heading, but the Fathers Day tableau gave me something besides a sore butt from an uncushioned wooden chair: my time on this earth has been okay and would be okay, no matter what happens in the next few years. I am headed for an activity billions of people have already done, and everyone at the table would eventually do the same.

“It isn’t the destination, it’s the journey.” Please google this phrase. Ask Ai about it. They have more resources, space, and ability to explain it. For even more fun try it this way: “It isn’t the journey, it’s the destination.” And don’t believe everything you read.

*With an apostrophe. Google it. Or Ai, it.

**Don’t laugh. The air base sending B-52s to Russia was 5 miles down the road.

***We must be smarter because so many of the Greeks were homosexual and bi-sexual. How long can a civilization last with activity like that? 4,500 years?

****Google them. I dare you.

It Was A Dark and Stormy Night

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Yeah, it is. Was. And will be for at least two more days. Happy Feckin’ New Year.

There is no way to describe the feeling of an upstate New York Lake Effect Snow Bomb(NYLESB*). No way. But I have to try, it is the only thing to do to save sanity. I’ve videod NYLESB every mid-night because it is beautiful as the flakes dance and drift and fly over the parking lots and the cars, often sideways in the biting, cold wind. Then, I noticed every night has been the same for…a month, a year, forever? And how gray is gray, anyway? Each day is a pulsating, electric rainbow of gray, light gray, dark gray, medium gray. It’s making my hair gray, driving me to not care a f#$% about punctuation and spelling. Oh, nooooo.

A weather person on a local station did an outdoor report on the amount of snow falling during this latest assault. She was covered head to toe with fabric but her exposed cheeks were bright red. The male news anchor inside the studio said this when the outdoor reporter finished her report: “Thanks for that report, Hannah and remember, stuff like this builds character.” Mic drop.

I lived in upstate NY for my first 30 years and it was never like this. Or was it? Maybe this is just another way age effects and affects us? As a 30-year old, did character building influence my opinion and recording of past snow events? Was there ever a time when new snow meant get outside and play, or at least shovel the driveway? We used to burrow snow forts into the two-tiered snowbanks caused by the snowplows with the wings. Later in life there was a news story about kids getting killed when another passing snowplow buried them. So it goes, as a famous person said more than once.

Yeah, that makes sense: we can build character with any event if we are ignorant enough. Or naïve enough? Inexperienced? Stupid?

In looking at this through the distortion of a half-full glass, it is a great way to get an idea of how Arctic and Antarctic researchers must feel when they purposefully place themselves in either of this Earth’s frigid, frozen poles. Hey, more good news. Thanks to climate change they may not be frozen much longer…all that ice and snow is migrating to Upstate New York.

What’s the big deal? At least we’re alive, right?

As the whining continues, it should be pointed out I am nice and warm inside a swanky apartment building with heat, light, and a fitness center on the first floor. My front wall of windows allows me to turn The Chair to sit and watch the dropping of NYLESB’s snowflakus gigantis, levitating from The Chair only when I really, really want to, or when nature calls for a warmer activity in the throne room. There are some who may not be as lucky. It is a time to ponder the homeless, or the poor who cannot afford heat, or the cat who runs under cars in the parking lot. What happens to them? Can anything be done?

And there it is, dammit, character. Do I get credit for it or does Mother Nature? God? Is my character-building the result of free will, and would it have happened without the warm apartment?

No one gets credit until something gets done. Thinking of good character is not being a good character. When that snow stops, watch out, world, you’re gonna get fixed. (Yes, I was going to type something else.)

But right now, back to bed.

This piece is riddled with red and blue lines, warning the grammar and spelling police are awakening and preparing my arrest. Am I worried? If you don’t hear from me look under the big snowbank to the left of the building.

*This sounds a little “rainbowish”? Anyone offended?