#64 Musings Beyond the Bunker (Sunday June 20)
Happy Summer Solstice. It is the longest day of the year!
And it’s Father’s Day (apparently, it’s singular possessive, as in “it’s my father’s day”—I looked it up).
Happy day to all the fathers.
Mother’s Day was an easy sell, starting early, building steam and the godsend of Hallmark Cards and every FTD florist ds. Father’s Day was a slower sell, first recognized in 1910, when a woman in Spokane, Washington, wanted to honor fathers. Her father, a Civil War veteran, reared her, along with her five siblings, after their mother died. She got Washington State to designate a holiday that slowly expanded from there. And while President Coolidge issued a proclamation urging people to honor fathers, it wasn’t until President Johnson’s Executive Order in 1966 and not until President Nixon signed it into law in 1972 that Father’s Day became a “real” holiday.
Hallmark and the local florists aren’t that enamored with Father’s Day. And Father’s Day will always take a back seat to Mother’s Day (and if you don’t believe this, try to make a reservation on Mother’s Day).
That said, today is a good day to commemorate “Dad Jokes” (of which I have many). Here’s a recent favorite groaner, courtesy of Dan Platt (a fount four awful jokes of the kind I enjoy):
It was a relatively quiet afternoon in Dodge City, with the regulars whiling away the time in the local saloon. No one expected any trouble until the swinging doors flew open and in stomped the meanest dog in the west. He was grizzly and ornery and struck an ominous presence. He was sporting Colt Revolvers in holsters on each hip. Not only did he look mean, but he showed the scars of gunfights and brawls from prior fights. Among the most visible and frightening was the fact that he had a leg blown clean off. He was known thereafter as “The Three Legged Dog.”
The Three Legged Dog sauntered up to the bar, spurs clanging on the floor with each step. When he got to the bar, he leaned forward, looking directly at the barkeep. He says, “I’ll take a whiskey, neat. Make it a triple.” The barkeep meanwhile was visibly shaken, the beads of sweat on his forehead occasionally dripping into a puddle on the bar.
The bartender slowly turns to pick up the whiskey bottle, hand shaking as he pours from the bottle into the Three Legged Dog’s class. He finally gets up the nerve to speak: “Look, mister, I don’t want no trouble in here. This here is a peaceful saloon.”
The Three Legged Dog responded, “And I’ll cause no trouble. I’m here for one reason and one reason only. I’m here to find the man who shot my paw.”
And for my Jewish friends (although you’ll all get it), two men were shipwrecked, marooned on a desert island. The first man quickly starts gathering foliage to build a temporary shelter, marshals what little food and water they were able to carry and sets out to find food on the island. When he returns, he finds his companion leaning against a rock, sunning himself, seemingly unconcerned with their dire situation. The more industrious fellow, incredulously asks, “Friend, do you have no concern for our well-being? We are marooned on an island. We don’t know where we are. We don’t know how we will feed ourselves. We have no idea if there are predators nearby. It could be months or years until we’re rescued.” The other fellow replied, “I’m not worried. We won’t be here more than a couple of days.”
The first man responds, “How can you be so confident in light of our present situation?”
The man lounging about replies, “I made my pledge to the Jewish Federation last week. I haven’t funded it yet. They’ll find me in due time.”
I hope you have a great day with your father or remembering your father. And recalling his jokes. I’ll recall my father, cigar in hand, watching a ball game or playing cards, telling his awful joke about the guy with the “wood eye.”
The best thing most of us will do in this world is create a family with someone they love. I’m triply thankful. I have wonderful memories of a grandfather, profound gratitude to have been raised by the greatest man I have ever known, and the opportunity and privilege to be a father to Andrea’s and my children—each special, accomplished, and of great character.
Cheers,
Glenn
From the archives: