This time of year, especially Halloween makes me ache for my childhood. I can remember so vividly how excited I was going to school on Halloween for the costume parade and the classroom Halloween party. But I also couldn’t get home quick enough to prepare for the evening. Halloween was a big deal at our house and all I wanted to do was get home from school and help my dad to be a part of it. So it’s no surprise that my expectations for providing a fun-filled Halloween were high as Ellie was getting older. And with these high expectations, I sometimes forget that Ellie is only three and Chloe’s only one.
I love special days. Especially ones that celebrate me. Like birthdays. I don’t mind if you want to make a fuss over me, I won’t stop you. I might pretend I don’t want anything or a big deal made, but secretly I really do. I just don’t want to come out and say it. But since becoming a father, I’m finding I get a lot more excited for Father’s Day than I do my birthday.
For a birthday, all you need to do is be alive for another year to celebrate. Anyone can do that. But for Father’s Day, I feel like I earn my gift. All the diaper changes, meals cooked, baths given, stories read, forts built, art classes, story time, picnics, play dates, playground time, meltdowns soothed, being spit up and puked on, I deserve it.
For Father’s Day, I have no problem announcing exactly what I want. And as far as gifts go, I don’t have big wants. I’m just talking “I want to go to a brunch buffet and eat until it hurts,” or “I want to go out for ice cream!” I’m pretty simple. It’s really just food I want. But this year, I’m asking for something even more simple. All I really want is some peace. You know, when I “have to go.” Just a little privacy. A little poop in peace, or P.I.P. as I call it.
Gift giving in my family gets crazy. Maybe not crazy, but definitely strange. If it’s not a strange gift like a homemade Christmas themed zombie movie where my mom is credited as “zombie #2”, we’ll wrap the gifts weird. From packages being locked in chains and having to figure out story problems to get the combination numbers, to being riveted shut in duct work, duct taped, dry-walled, zip tied, or being frozen in a block of ice, we’ve done it all someway or another. You never know what is going to show up under the tree at my parent’s house.
I love being in a relationship with such variety. I love being exposed to Aya’s Japanese culture, and she loves being exposed to my American culture with my family’s Polish heritage. We try to raise Ellie, and now Chloe, with a nice mix of both. Blending holiday traditions between two different families is difficult enough, but it can be even more challenging when you’re blending traditions from two different countries with very different cultures.
I’ve never felt the desire to get that classic shot of Ellie sitting on Santa’s lap every year. You know the photo. The one where Ellie would be in her fancy holiday dress, bows in hair, and I’d be hoping for that adorable perfect moment when she’s smiling in wonderment but most likely be shrieking in terror. Yes, that photo. I’m not against it, it’s just never been my thing. Aya never had this tradition as a child, and I really don’t remember liking it too much either. I know I went a few times, but the experience wasn’t lasting enough to remember it too clearly. So it wasn’t something important for me to do it with Ellie.
