This issue comes out a few days before Father’s Day. A day that is joyous for many – a celebration of generations and the men in their families. But it is also a day that I, and many others, dread. There are as many reasons for wanting to erase this day from the calendar as there are people in my shoes. Don’t take that the wrong way, I promise I’m not here raising a campaign to cancel Father’s Day, it just happens to be the most painful day out of the year for me. 

My dad passed away some years ago now. It’s been so long that his birthday and the day of his death cruise past without many tears shed. Yet sometimes the pain just feels so raw and fresh – like it was yesterday when we lowered his ashes to the ground. Father’s Day kind of feels like adding insult to my injury in many ways, but especially with all the advertisements. My email is bombarded with ads from online bookstores and other companies I shop at asking whether I’ve already bought this knickknack for my dad as it for sure is the perfect present. There’s much to say about the capitalistic nature of this holiday, as every company seems to be on the quest to squeeze all our money out of our wallets by selling us fragrance here and a pair of woolen socks there. But that’s a whole other conversation. I cannot escape this day on social media either, as if I’m not being sold something, I see the celebratory posts from my friends and acquaintances. Stepping outside to the “real world” holds no key to salvation either as it has me both seeing even more ads while also forcing me to engage in conversations about this very special happy day. I recently started at a new job and as I am writing this, I’m dreading that conversation that I’ll most likely have to go through multiple times in the span of a week or so. Like a fucked-up play where I’m the unfortunate main character, forced to live this one specific scenario again and again just with different people. 

Let me describe this scene for you: I’m engaging with (a) coworker(s) in some fun little lighthearted small talk in the office and I have for the tiniest of seconds forgotten all about what happens on Sunday. Then my counterpart, innocently, asks me about my weekend plans, specifically about how I’m going to celebrate Father’s Day. I can either a) give a very politically correct answer, not really answering their question e.g., “Oh, I’m going to my parent’s place…” and leave it at that or b) tell them that my dad is dead. For the first few years I opted for option a) especially when speaking with people who aren’t too close to me. Nowadays though, I tend to be honest. I usually tell them we’re going to visit his grave and then have some dinner at my mom’s. Despite what you might think, saying this part out loud is not the worst part, it’s the reactions of people. Most people tend to be horrified, like they should’ve known and somehow messed up. Or then there’s the pitying look and an awkward change of subject. 

My paternal grandmother died earlier this year, and this has once again made me feel bitter about Father’s Day. I almost feel that as I’m mourning her death, my heart’s wound for my father has opened once again. This all feels more final, like that light has somehow now dimmed out completely. While most of the active stages of grief have been processed and life has returned to its usual tracks, I predict that this Father’s Day will be a difficult one for me. I’m writing the first draft of this in middle of October and a company has already tried to sell me “the most perfect Father’s Day gift”. Little do they know; a candle and a rose are going to be the only gifts I will be buying while I explain to someone, yet again, how my celebration of this day will be vastly different from theirs. If you’re in the same boat with me, I’m sending you hugs and warm thoughts. If you’re anti-Father's Day for any other reason, I’m sending you hugs and warm thoughts. This day is soon over, and we won’t have to think about it for another year.