You know that day? That glorious day? The day I speak of is Father’s Day. The day when things are said such as, “Dad, put down that dirty plate. I am doing the dishes tonight.” Or, “Dad, you relax. I’ll mow the lawn.” Or, “Dad, that laundry basket has my name on it.” Yes, that glorious day, when children absorb all of my chores, real or imagined.

Well, one year. Just one year. I’d like Father’s Day to come in the dead of Winter. Why? So I can hear the unlikely words, “Dad, we are going to go out in the backyard and chisel mummified dog poop out of the frozen tundra, so that we don’t have a major problem in the Spring.” A father can dream.