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It’s hard to believe that it was nearly three weeks ago that we held our daughter’s first birthday/Tupperware extravaganza in our backyard.  Our house is still littered with the remnants of the affair, with decorations gathering dust where they were hastily tossed, balloons hanging lazily as their nitrous slowly dissipates, and the pony still occasionally pawing at the garage door in hopes we might feed it after we locked it in there those many weeks ago.  But, I’m happy to report that the fiesta was a huge success, bringing together friends and family alike to share in the celebration of Justine’s happy milestone.

I’ve previously discussed the thought process behind our party planning, especially in light of the fact that our little one will have zero recollection of the day.  Consequently, preparations for the big day weren’t overly hectic or dramatic as we have experienced with other planned affairs. (the wedding, for example, or my annual Arbor Day Bonfire and Kegfest)  Most of the work involved the guillotining of a garden’s worth of veggies, and of course frantically jamming our daily life into closets to give the appearance that we don’t live in a cluttered nightmare of useless junk. But  I have to say that the highlight for me was getting the opportunity to take apart one of those human leg-sized pork loins from Sam’s Club and jamming the pieces into 3 crockpots full of the cheapest barbecue sauce we could find.  Incidentally, the house still reeks like a Louisiana smokehouse.

The day dawned and we were up early getting everything set.  All of our parents came from far and wide to help us with everything, from managing the food, to helping decorate, and above all entertaining the guest of honor who clearly had no conception of the whirlwind going on around her as everything was being situated.  Guests began arriving soon after, and we had a wonderful turnout of friends who dropped by to mooch off our free food, comb through our medicine cabinet, and at least toss a ‘happy birthday’ in Justine’s general direction while dropping off most likely wrapped but empty cardboard boxes.  We had the usual party elements, with a decent spread of food, coolers full of soda, an array of toys available for the kids (including a water table and a kiddie pool full of plastic balls which we had to keep shooing the parents out of) and of course cougar vs. jaguar cage matches.

The highlight of the entire affair (for me at least) was the cake.  A family friend (Jennifer) , with some “help” from my wife, crafted an amazing “Ace of Cakes-esque” birthday cake that matched our “baby block” theme.  Before everyone could dig into it, we presented to our little Justine (firmly strapped into her decorated high chair) her own tiny block shaped cake.  It took some prodding, but she eventually tore into it, shoving gobs of the sticky cake/fondant into her hair, down her dress, up her nose, and occasionally in her mouth.  This was her first real taste of anything cake-like, and as expected, she was bouncing off the walls for hours afterward.

Thankfully, the shaky weather forecast held, and only as the last guests were leaving, pilfered rolls of toilet paper shoved down their pant legs and expired amoxycillin prescriptions tucked away in purses, did the expected downpour begin.  We were left to drain the crockpots, attempt to stuff the fridge with the leftovers, and perform the ritual ‘gift-assembly’ that always seems to follow the large-scale baby/infant gift-giving bonanzas.

All in all, it was an amazing day and one that we will treasure for years to come.  Except for Justine of course, who will someday look at the pictures and more than likely accuse us of stealing some other kids party pictures and photoshopping her into them.  Actually, that is not a terrible idea…

- MWF -

Dad has instilled in me many of the qualities and interests that define who I am, and how I act, in some situations to frightening results. I, for example, curse in almost an identical fashion when I’m hit with a minor setback, and have adopted the same brand of dress sock. But beyond these idiosyncrasies, Dad has, on a deeper level affected my interests through the various activities I participated in (or was drug kicking and screaming to attend).

Some of the fondest memories I have from my childhood stem from playing Little League in a group near my house. My dad is a huge baseball fan, and so he was always involved in coaching me and my brother, either as assistant or head coach. I was actually pretty good at pitching back then, thanks to my dad’s instruction and of course the HGH which wasn’t banned at the time.

After late afternoon games, we’d always head over to Roy Roger’s for a post game analysis/fried chicken introspective between frequent trips to the Fixin’s bar. Those wonderful dinners sparked a lifelong love for Roy’s, a chain which now seems inconveniently relegated to toll road rest stops.

Dad is a long suffering Phillies fan, and so from a very young age I accompanied him and my late grandfather on dozens, perhaps hundreds of trips down to the Vet to watch the Phillies occasionally eke one out. At the 5th inning we’d always head down to concessions to get a few Cokes and walk around the stadium, before returning and feasting on the (hopefully salted) peanuts Mom sent along with us. I still crave those peanuts, picking up a bag every now and then, shelling them in the living room much to my wife’s chagrin.

My dad and I also share a love of history, something he fostered in me during my childhood through our frequent visits to the many, many historical sites in Philadelphia and surrounding areas. By the tail end of these visits we were scraping the dregs of museums, and some of dubious accreditation (William Penn’s Old-Timey Ball in a Cup Factory and Riverboat Casino) but the damage was done – I was destined to become history buff (and dual history major).

Nowadays my dad is about 300% more active than the average retiree, playing senior league baseball 9 months of the year, traveling to a variety of exotic locales with my mom (Africa, Australia, Minneapolis), umpiring and refereeing high school baseball and basketball and pursuing a surprising new interest in geology, which has overrun our old ping pong table with ‘samples.’. He also plays well the role of ‘Pop-Pop’ to his six grandkids, including my very own Justine.

Now that I am a father myself I look to the examples he set for me as I was growing up, and will try to best of my ability to do at least half as good a job as he does. So now, from a son to his Dad, and now one father to another, I say:

Happy Father’s Day!