I’m a terrible father.
I don’t remember my first Father’s Day. Zacharie was born May 31, 2007. Father’s Day was a few weeks later, June 17.
I don’t remember a thing about it.
I dont have any pictures from that day. I’ve got a lot from the hospital when Z was born. I’ve got a lot from the week after Father’s Day when we went to a street festival with friends. I’ve got nothing from my first Father’s Day.
I do remember my second Father’s Day, though.
I booked a trip to Calgary to visit my friend, eat steaks, and golf from June 14-16, 2008. We stayed up late, visited with friends, got up early, and traveled out to Kananaskis to play an incredible round of golf.
It wasn’t until a week before the trip that I even realized I had booked the vacation for Father’s Day weekend. My wife wasn’t impressed.
Lately, though, Father’s Day is firmly circled on the calendar and respected. It is the start of camping season with my sons. Every year we pack up and head out for a weekend in the wilderness alone. Just me and my kids. I relish the ritual of it. I look forward to the time away with the boys. I love that it’s the start of another summer with weekends spent unplugged and exploring.
Father’s Day means a lot to me (now). I can’t wait to get out and get after it with my boys.