Tag Archives: Father’s Day

Prodigal Son

As most of the world knows, yesterday was Father’s Day. This is a picture of my mantelpiece yesterday evening:

The cards are homemade, as we always insist upon in our house. The red card on the right is from Tingirl, the one in the middle is from Tinson1, who admitted that it was his second attempt, as just before he gave me his first one he realised it said “Happy Birthday” on it (still, he passed his Second Year Science exams on Friday, at the moment he can do no wrong).

So the one on the far left is obviously Tinson2’s, you’re thinking. Well, no. The one on the left is in my writing, and says “This space is reserved for Tinson2’s card (I know it’s coming)”.

(See, even out in the slogosphere I use a lot of brackets.)

This is why the first sentence of this post says “as most of the world” rather than “as the whole world”.

In fairness to him he had made a card but as always had got up ten minutes before he had to go out and meet his mates and had forgotten to give it to me, then didn’t arrive home until after midnight.

Anyway, putting up my own card was funnier, and the debate as to whether he should be left any of the cake they got for me was entertaining (it was a tie, he got some because I had the casting vote).

So in his own way, and entirely without intending to, he gave me quite a good Father’s Day gift.

Mio Padre

Yesterday, of course, was Father’s Day. Last year I published this picture of the cards my children had made for me, on a day otherwise devoid of presents of any kind:

Imagine my surprise, then, when this year I received not just the usual selection of home-made hallmarkery (and needless to say I much prefer them to any card bought in any shop), but also  the collection of booty displayed below:

I have to admit I find this a bit worrying. Do they know something I don’t know? Am I ill? (“Are you serious, Tinman”, I hear you say. “You, ill?”).

Well, you know what I mean.

Anyway, during the afternoon an interesting event occurred, especially on Father’s Day of all days. I had to drive Tingirl and two of her friends to another friend’s house. As they got out of the car one of the girls turned to me and said “are you half-Italian?”.

“Er, no,” said Tingirl quickly, “I just made that up”.


Who’s The Daddy

SP_A0057Today is Father’s Day, and rightly so. We men deserve at least one day in the year where we have our dinner handed to us, and are free to splodge on the couch all day and watch sport (it’s just as well Mrs Tin doesn’t read this blog, since she’d probably have to be restrained at this point).

RTE have certainly tried to ensure the day is a success, as they have chosen tonight to broadcast the final ever episode of ER – the one with George Clooney, Anthony Edwards and Goran Whatshisface all returning – and wives all over the country will be suggesting to their husbands that they pop down to the pub for an hour or so, leaving them free to sit in front of the TV with a dirty big bowl of ice-cream and a dirtier, bigger grin.

The picture above shows the cards that I received from my children, and proves that they certainly can’t be accused of being hoodwinked by the blatant commercialism of the day. I remember my mum always saying on Mother’s day that she preferred stuff we made ourselves to stuff we bought, and I used to wonder was she just being nice, but I now know that she was telling us the truth. The homemade cards that I get each birthday and Father’s Day mean everything to me. (They can also occasionally provide yet another in-family joke. About five years ago Tinson1 made his card for Mrs Tin in such a hurry that he wrote “Happy Moter’s Day” on the front, and Mother’s Day has now vanished from the Tinfamily annual calendar, while Moter’s Day is in).

The cards, by the way, are arranged on a leather chair and not, as it may appear, on the arse of our pet elephant.

Anyway, I find the whole day very humbling. I am always astonished by the obvious love in the eyes of these three wonderful young people, and have no idea what I have done to deserve it. They see me as strong, protective and wise, and I see myself as anything but.

But it is also very uplifting. If these kids think I’m great then I must be doing something right.

So I’m getting what each of them wished for me on their cards.

I’m having a Happy Father’s Day.