Days of our fathers

Tomorrow morning, I'll wake up and it'll be Father's Day. And as much as I enjoy having our kids excitedly bounce into our room in the morning, I can't shake the overwhelming feeling that this entire thing is a crock.

Right on, folks, I'm a curmudgeon.

I'm under no illusion that days like this are anything more than manufactured excuses designed to sell stuff. For weeks now - well, essentially since Mother's Day wound down - stores everywhere have fallen over themselves coming up with new ways to market the same old stuff:

• Wouldn't Dad love to cook eggs in this teflon-coated, high-tech frying pan? (Um, yes, but my wife's perfectly happy to share hers with me.)
• Let Dad burn his own movies with this DVD burner! (Only if they're legally purchased.)
• Dad deserves only the very best golf ball cleaner on the market! (Have they ever seen me play golf?)

I've never been comfortable with the forced nature of these so-called celebrations. Society more or less expects us to acknowledge the day in some tangible, material way, and heaven forbid we fail to meet expectations. Consider me not a fan. I like my celebrating to be genuine and spontaneous, thank you very much.

Today also reminds me that, in this year of firsts, it's my first Father's Day without my own father. Not that I needed a reminder in any form - it's with me every waking moment of every day - but having to face it down within the additional context of an artificial, commercially-driven excuse of a day is something I could just as easily live without.

So when tonight turns into tomorrow, I'll count the minutes until our munchkins come bouncing into our bed and begin to color the day happy. And as it should always be, nothing else will matter beyond that moment of indescribable joy. If we're lucky, they'll do the bouncing thing again tomorrow. Because connecting with dad - or anyone else in your family, for that matter - shouldn't need a special day.