Johnny Miller and Father's Day

To all you dads out there, I hope your Father's Day was as enjoyable as mine. My beautiful daughters treated me to an air-conditioned cabana at a local beach resort, complete with flat screen TV on which to watch the U.S. Open when I wasn't sunning by the pool. Not too shabby! They even sprang for a couple shots of Padron! Speaking of the Open, what a performance by the young Mr. McIlroy! Perhaps Tiger finally has a worthy opponent.

If you're a golfer, or a fan of golf, you probably know that our national championship, the United States Open, concludes (weather permitting) on Father's Day each year. It's a tradition that has made watching the Open just a little more special. This year, Gerry McIlroy, Rory's father, was right there beside the 18th green to witness his beloved only-child complete a rare, record-setting wire-to-wire victory. After sinking his final putt - eight shots clear of his closest competitor - Rory trotted off the green and into his father's warm embrace, a father who sometimes worked three jobs to support a young Rory's burgeoning links career. Now that's a helluva Father's Day!

The U.S. Open is televised on NBC, and a key member of the broadcast team is analyst Johnny Miller, himself an Open champion and the holder of the lowest final round ever shot in a U.S. Open (his spectacular 63 at Oakmont in 1973). Miller is known as a no-holds-barred commentator who is not afraid to skewer his fellow linksmen if he believes they deserve it. His candor, along with his expert observations have made him one of the most highly regarded analysts in all of sports, let alone golf. He is also known as a spiritual man, and a devoted father and husband, who, like millions of young men, was taught the game of golf by his father.

During yesterday's broadcast, Miller commented that the highest calling for a man is that of being a father. Amid the excitement of watching a record-setting performance by a sweet-swinging, fast-rising young Northern Irishman, Miller poignantly added perspective that elevated the moment, and the broadcast, without sounding preachy. And he's right, of course. As much as we men may see ourselves as providers, or heads of household or protectors, or whatever traditional or macho descriptor you can think of, there is no more important role we will ever play than that of father. Johnny Miller, you're the man!

So, happy belated Father's Day, dads. I hope your kids are as wonderful and special as mine. They're adults now, but they'll always be my kids. I'm honored, proud and humbled to be their dad!

T. Stauffer, Wishin' I Was Fishin'

A New Day. A Different Point of View. An Easter Tale.

I last posted to this blog in July - nine months ago. At that point, I realized the whole "blogging thing" had come to represent something I didn't want (or need). It had become a chore. I have enough chores; didn't need one more. So, I took a break - to rethink and regroup. No timeline for a return, if at all, but hopeful. In the interim, I've had plenty of time to reflect on why I began blogging in the first place and what I had hoped to accomplish by doing so. I've come to several realizations:

• I have a new and profoundly greater respect for people who earn their living writing every day.



• Being creative, clever, witty, topical and/or informative every day - or even simply on a regular basis - is, at best, difficult and challenging. At least it has been for me.



• Blogging anonymously while using the forum to make critical social commentary is gutless and it is irresponsible. It's voyeurism at it's most base, and it has become all too common in the blogosphere. I wasn't adding value, and I was becoming (more) cynical.



• I should be writing NOT because I need to get something off my chest (better left for the confessional or shrink's couch), but because I need to write. And because I want to share.
  

So, I'm back. Less negative social commentary - unless it's self-deprecating. Topics that are more upbeat and hopefully uplifting. (I'm predisposed to sarcasm, so I will endeavor to resist the temptation - unless it would genuinely contribute to humor.) Off I go.

I celebrated Easter this past weekend like millions of others around the world. In and of itself, that's not significant. However, one element of our family's celebration stands out that some people might find interesting. My adult son and daughter - ages 19 & soon-to-be-22 respectively - requested an Easter egg hunt. When my wife informed me, I was like, "Are you kidding?" Suddenly, my cranky side emerged. Why? Because selfishly, the last thing I wanted to do for the umpteenth consecutive Easter morning was trudge around my dew-covered yard, dodging piles of dog you-know-what, and trying to find yet another batch of clever hiding places in which to stash stupid little plastic eggs, while my big kiddies slumber away the morning.

How many years have I been doing this? Twenty, if not more! Next thing you're going to tell me is they also want us to leave a couple carrots out overnight for a certain Mr. E. Bunny! Get outta here! They're registered voters for crying out loud! Once more, instead of relaxing on the lanai with a steaming mug of java and my morning paper, seranaded by the osprey, cardinals, mocking birds and redheaded woodpeckers, I'll be attempting to conceal a hundred-or-so (seems like a thousand!) annoying plastic orbs in which Mom has graciously inserted varying amounts of our hard-earned cash and clever little fortune-cookie-like notes, all so that my overindulged offspring can cling ever-so-tightly to their youth. Bah humbug!

As I rounded the corner of the house for what seemed like the 50th time, trying to find one last hiding place for one last egg, and by now sweating like I just spent an hour in a sauna, it hit me. So what, ya big Scrooge? So what, if your still-living-at-home adult children want to race around the yard like a couple of giggling adolescents trying to beat each other by collecting the most eggs? Why the hell not? Have you paid attention to all those headlines and stories you read every day in your precious newspaper? Being a grown-up isn't all it's cracked up to be these days, Daddy-O. So what, if your kids want to be kids again for an hour on Easter morning? Cut 'em some slack! On Monday they go back to trying to find their way in a very complicated world and being held accountable like the rest of us. God bless 'em for wanting to hold on to a little piece of happier, simpler times! Rue the day when they ask no more! (Wow, self-served humble pie for breakfast. So mature!)

Well, I found a place for that last egg. Then Mom and I went about our remaining Easter Day chores: she, tidying up the house and filling vessels with Cadbury eggs, jelly beans and other tasty morsels, and I, preparing our Easter feast. As it turns out, hours would pass before the kids finally set out for the hunt (young adults keep late nights, you know!). They didn't roll out of bed until early afternoon, and there was the task of coloring real eggs first. Finally, mid-afternoon, as I was preparing to put the lamb on the grill, bags in-hand, they rushed outside and for the next hour or so, my grown-up kids were simply big kids. In typical fashion, Big Sis - she being "the competitive one" - hoarded more eggs than Li'l Bro (it seems to have become a tradition at some point), and secured bragging rights for yet another year. The odds were in her favor that she'd have the egg containing the $5 bill, and sure enough, as she pried open what seemed like her 500th egg, there he was: Honest Abe. Momentary glee (not the TV show), followed by a look of genuine satisfaction. Across the room, all Little Brother could do was shake his head, toss back a few more jelly beans and hope for better luck next year. Soon, we shared an excellent dinner, then, fully sated, I retired to the lanai for a cigar, another glass of wine and the company of my back-to-being-a-young-adult son and his guitar. Not a bad way to finish the day.

You know, maybe next year, I'll request that they hide a few eggs for me.

Happy to be writing again,

T. Stauffer, Wishin' I Was Fishin'