As evidenced by the photo above, to the victor go the spoils.

Yesterday was Father’s Day–although there is some controversy. Once he got some size on him, my son was quick to observe, “Father’s Day should be like on a Tuesday from 10 in the morning until maybe 11:15. Y’all don’t get ANYthing…”

Out of the mouths of babes…

He’d noticed the commercials for Mom’s Day, the Big Deal, the racks of greeting cards. But Dad’s Day? “Here are some new spark plugs. And a tie from Goodwill. Can I borrow the keys?”

It is true, and it is likely deserved. We are Second Stringers. Moms do the heavy lifting, starting with childbirth, if you want to call that hard. I mean, now that there are drugs to help with the pain, so is it that big of a deal?

(That is a Designated Joke! Forget the actual birth: I know what it feels like when I’ve overeaten on fried fish, potatoes, and bean soup. Could I feel like that for nine months and not be arrested for Crimes Against The World every couple of weeks? NEG! I don’t know how women do it. So…thank you. Mothers Day and moms deserve to come first. Women retired the Strongest Sex trophy YEARS ago.)

But wow, thank you for the special Sunday in June, you wives and offspring. We don’t deserve it, but what a blessing it is. I contacted my dad and mom, my step-dad and father-in-law, was called by my son and daughter. Touched base with several other riffraff dads. And for lunch, my spousal unit, who owes me nothing since I am not her dad (what a break!), made me Manwich, at my request. Manwich is the rich man’s term for Sloppy Joes. Have not had one in four or five years. Can’t say that anymore.

It’s good to be king.

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