Happy Paisley Tie Day!

L.W.!

Thank you so much for my Fathers Day gift!  And like any great gift, I just had to put it to use as soon as I could.  Since actually putting it on you wasn't really a viable option, I had to settle for the next best thing.  You're underneath there somewhere, just waiting to come out.  According to me, at least.  According to your momma, you're underneath there everywhere, and in no hurry whatsoever to come out.  Details.  I think that's a beautiful picture of you and your mom and your sweet gift for your daddy.  So thank you again!

I know you might be a little sketchy on exactly how you earned the accolades I'm giving you, so I'll catch you up to speed.  You see, everybody in this country gets a holiday.  Some get a day...others a week...some even get a month.  The American culture is very big on gift giving and the acknowledgement of a job well done, and for all of our exclusionary attitudes toward other things, we don't want anyone to be left out when it comes to greeting cards.  Your mom and dad both get their own day.  Mothers Day is in May, and Fathers Day is in June...both are on Sundays.  On Mothers Day, little children and their dads make a big fuss over mommy, and bring her breakfast in bed and lavish her with compliments, flowers, chocolates, and everything else that makes women happy.  The whole day is geared toward giving her whatever she wants.  Fathers Day is pretty similar to that, except it starts off with a gift for Dad.  The rest of the day is a blissfully exhausting session of Dad trying to figure out exactly what it is that Mom wants him to want, so he can ask for it, she can supply it, and he can get everything "he" desires on "his" special day.  Nevermind the fact that Five Guys really did sound pretty darn delicious to him, and On The Border after that, but in the end, Chili's was "his" choice, what "he" really wanted, and it was very good.  But I'm not bitter or anything.  

So, yeah, that's how this stuff typically goes.

One thing, L.W., that your dad really does love to do is to watch the United States Open Golf Championship.  The U.S. Open.  It is always held on the weekend of Fathers Day, and your mommy has always been very good about letting me watch it in peace.  I really love golf, Cooper, and I hope that you will love it, too.  I hope that we can watch the U.S. Open together every year on Fathers Day, just the same as I did with my dad.  Maybe one day we could go and watch it in person.  Together.  Maybe one day you'll even play in it.  That is a big maybe, but you never know.  Today, a young man by the name of Graeme McDowell won.  And just as soon as his final putt rolled into the cup, Graeme's father was rushing out onto the green.  He gave his son the most joyous hug, and kept repeating the keenest phrase.  Instead of saying how proud he was, which is how most of these scenes go, the elder McDowell kept saying "You're some kid!", 

"You're some kid!  You're some kid!  You're some kid!"  It reminded me of E.B. White's Charlotte the Spider, who I will introduce to you later, if your Nana Mel doesn't beat me to it.  Anyway, I thought it was a very sweet and a very neat father-to-son exclamation on the 18th green of the Pebble Beach Golf Links.  I wonder if Graeme's father ever dared to dream of his son winning the U.S. Open.  It must have seemed like a gargantuan maybe to him, as well, but it turned out to be one that miraculously played out.  Maybe we'll be so lucky.  Probably not, but that's okay.  I know just as certainly as Mr. McDowell does about his son, you're some kid, just the same.  

                           

I love you, L.W.!

BW