Happy Father’s Day

Amidst yet another wondrous Father’s Day I find myself pondering how the others handle days such as this, or Mother’s Day for that matter.

I speak from experience when I tell you that nothing surpasses the joys of fatherhood and presumably motherhood, although being a grandparent is a close second.

But what about the people who never have the opportunity?

Some cannot, having been denied by cruel physiological fate despite their fervent desires to be parents.

I feel for them.

It is the others, however, who prompt the most speculation on my part.

An anagram – DINK – was coined years back for people who got married, both worked, yet didn’t want to spend money on progeny, and so live out their lives as perpetual adolescents. DINK means dual income, no kids. It was and is a lifestyle choice.

All the while, their biological clocks keep ticking. I wonder, do they reach a point when it is too late that they regret the decision to indulge themselves and forego raising a family?

Such choices have long-term, rippling consequences. No children means no grandchildren. No great-grandchildren.

No memories of first steps, first words, first day of school, first date, marriage and the like.

I have heard others say they can live the experience vicariously through the children of friends or relatives. With all due respect, that’s like saying watching someone else eat a cherry pie is as enjoyable as consuming the treat yourself.

And then there is the matter of those who abort children. While we constantly have pro-abortion types trumpet about having the right to abort conception due to rape or incest, that is the tiniest part of the abortion spectrum. Most abortions are, to borrow a phrase from earlier in this piece, the result of lifestyle choices.

Economic woes, no relationship with the father, just not the right time, are among the more common reasons for abortion.

That leads us on another tangent. Not all men who have fathered children deserve celebration on this day. Too many are hit-and-run artists, who leave the woman holding the bag, figuratively speaking. For them, today should serve as an annual reminder that they dropped the ball.

They know not what they have tossed away.

I got a laugh at having two of my granddaughters present today, watching them make faces regarding the food choices, then end up enjoying the shrimp (barbecued, in butter or cold with cocktail sauce) that was part of the feast prepared by my wife. They passed on the steak, but loved the hot dogs and corn on the cob. And, oh, the desserts.

Maybe someday these girls will enjoy Mother’s Days, or Father’s Days with their eventual husbands.

At least, that’s where I hope things will go. I’d hate to think of these young girls falling into the DINK category.