. . Yesterday was Father’s Day, a day that, for many dads around the world, is a cause for celebration of the laziest kind. Some golf, a tryptophan-laden feast, maybe a movie, a new tie, and just a lot of well-deserved relaxation. For my father, the day is a bittersweet reminder of just how difficult life can be, even on a day predicated by family and happiness. My grandfather, my father’s father from whom he was given the name John, died on Jan. 13, 2009 after a long and arduous battle with cancer. This is my father’s second year without a dad to celebrate the occasion with, as well as the second in which he does not have a job. Times are tough for him and his, as they are on many of us. I’ve recently seen my bank account shrink enigmatically over the past few months, so I wasn’t able to offer anything to my pops other than company. We had a good meal after he came back from church, we raided the candy section at a local Kroger’s, shoved the loot into our pockets and made our way into the 2:25 showing of “Toy Story 3” in 3D. Just like “Wall-E” and “Up” before it, if you don’t find yourself shedding or fighting off tears at least twice, you simply don’t have a heart. We collected ourselves afterward, left the theater, quickly got out of the searing sun, and went home. I didn’t get a lot of sleep the night before, so I went home and crashed. I woke up fairly early today feeling as if I didn’t do enough for my father on His day. I suddenly remembered something that I all too often forget: I’m a freaking writer. I write for a website. My dad reads that website. So, I booted the computer, got a glass of water, gathered the leftover candy I didn’t eat at the theater, placed it in front of me, and I got to work. This is for him.
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