Question of balance

I have figured out the ultimate Father’s Day gift to give my husband, the Carpenter, father of my two amazing children. This is brilliant. I can’t believe I have never thought of it before. I don’t even have to wrap this gift. Perfect.

For Father’s Day, as in the entire day, from sun up to sun down, my gift to my husband will be (drum roll please…) not to ask the man a single question. Not one. Not even a leading question. For one full day, in honour of this commercialized excuse for a holiday, I will give him the gift of peace. That will make the Carpenter a happy man.

You see, I ask a lot of questions (like, a lot). I am talking about everything from simple musings to big life mysteries. It isn’t intended to be annoying; I am just a curious soul. I need answers.

The Carpenter seems to be all knowing all the time. He has an answer for everything. I believe I told you once his astrological sign is Leo. Yep. He’s got all the answers to the universe’s greatest questions and absolutely no tolerance for those who miss the obvious solutions. That would be me. You see why this is fun now, right? You might call it a set up; I begin each inquiry with fair warning: “Can I ask you a question?”

His response is a deep sigh and usually something clever like, “Can I stop you?” Ah sarcasm, if only it were a deterrent rather than an accelerant. The penalty for that rhetoric is to further assault him with the ridiculous queries that roll about in my mind without rhyme or reason.

For instance, there are the heavy life questions like; “Do you suppose it is possible humans have a third eye, and if so, do you think it costs extra to have its brow waxed?” Or social etiquette situations like; “So-and-so said that so-and-so doesn’t really like such-and-such, so should I tell her that she’s not going, or is it better to just let whatever happens, happen. And do you think they’ll be mad at me?” Picture his face.

Then there are the more calculated, goal-oriented Kelly Questions, a specialized brand of passive aggressive queries that some might consider to be perhaps manipulative in nature. (That is why I don’t ask anybody else.) Case in point: “Do you think we have mold in the walls?” Leading? Maybe, but we do have a bedroom renovation completed. Score.  “Are you taking our son to the 6:30am practice?” Cough. Like I was going to do it?

But there is one question that the Carpenter has no idea how to answer, and I love him for that. “Do you know why you are a great father?”

That one I will answer for him. The Carpenter is a great Dad because he knows that fatherhood is not a right, it is privilege. Responsibility is not a burden; it is a choice. Fathers require the humour of a clown, the courage of a lion, the faith of an angel, the heart of a saint and the wisdom of an elder. Oh, and the ability to spot clean carpets, build bike ramps and belch the alphabet. Most of all, Dads need the compassion to recognize they have the profound ability to change a child’s life simply by loving them. Any questions?

Happy Father’s Day, Carpenter and all the good Dads who are just like him.


Kelly Waterhouse