South Dakota Politics: My Father’s Day

Allow me to bore you by telling you how I spent father's day. This morning I cleaned up the kitchen. Later, I mowed the lawn. This afternoon I cooked a leg of lamb on my barbeque smoker. The meat had been resting in a marinade that I prepared last night. Chipotle chilies in adobo sauce, cumin, caraway seed, and fresh thyme transform protein and mess up the cutting boards in equal measure. One of my offspring joined us for dinner. Another called me from Grandma's house where she is visiting.

That's a pretty typical father's day in America, except maybe for cleaning the kitchen. I don't seem to remember my father ever doing that. Here at Casa Blanchard the cooking and the cleaning are shared equally. There are two reasons for that. One is that I practice zazen (Zen Buddhist mindfulness) and part of that practice involves mindful cleaning. Another is that the roles of mother and father have changed in America, in large part because of the influence of feminism.

Let me say it: I owe one to feminism. I doubt that my father ever changed many diapers. I changed more diapers than my wife did, due largely to the schedule we kept when our children were wee. She worked to help put me through graduate school. It had as much to do with the modern idea that fathers should invest as much in the care of infants as mothers, whenever possible. This was a big win for me. As my children grew I was there, a lot more than my father got to be there. I am not at all sorry for this change in the responsibilities of fatherhood.

My father was there for me, at evenings, weekends, and holidays. I never for a moment doubted his love or his support. I knew his face and his voice, his frequent smile and occasional frown, his love of puns and the bald spot on the top of his head, as well as I knew anything in my childhood.

Fatherhood is very simple. It means that a man's life is about his wife and children. Their flourishing is his success. It speaks well of us that we devote a day to this, as we devote days to thanksgiving and to the honor of our heroes. My father passed away last January. This is the first father's day in my life that I cannot call him or, better yet, polish that bald spot with my hand. But I say: if you look up father in the dictionary, you will see his picture.