By Jim Hagarty
Today’s another Father’s Day.
So it’s my day, I guess.
I’m not too big on special days,
I simply must confess.
Special days make family members
Feel they must produce
Some evidence they love you.
But really, what’s the use?
I never doubt they love me.
They only make me glad
That I enjoy the privilege
Of being called their Dad.
Fatherhood is daunting,
Of that there is no doubt.
But knowing you are someone’s Dad
Is what heaven’s all about.
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Author: Jim Hagarty
I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.
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