Father’s Day has diminished in importance over the years. It happened as a generational thing, no doubt.
Back in the day, well, being the son of a World War II veteran meant something. Too many lost fathers in that war. Just having a living father in the 1950s became an often-celebrated event on his birthday, Decoration Day, July 4th, well, all holidays, and of course, Father’s Day. One cousin lost her father in the war, so true in almost every family. One cousin lost an older brother in that war, too young to become a father.
Churches honored fathers on Father’s Day, just as they had done for mothers on Mother’s Day. Ushers pinned a carnation onto each dad’s lapel. Now there’s a reflection on past tradition that long ago disappeared. Can 21st Century-born people even mentally picture a boutonniere? If the practice would be resurrected for this coming Sunday’s Father’s Day, where would the carnation be pinned? On the collar of the modern-day dad’s tee shirt? Most men no longer wear suit and ties to church. In the 1950’s every man and boy wore a suit, tie, and freshly shined shoes. Today’s shorts or jeans ragged with rips serve as acceptable sanctuary attire.
As a member of the surviving Great-Grandfather generation, the time around Father’s Day produced an over-abundance of reflective opportunities. Angelkeep Journals’ columnist fell into that category long ago. A warm patio rocker the week prior to Father’s Day rocks up a storm of old-school conundrums. When the youngies carry on in ways that seem “That’s Just Wrong,” the wisdom of the ages replies mentally with “See, Hear, Speak no Evil.”
With that, an old-schooler rocking away on the Angelkeep patio reconnected to nature’s Father’s Day reflections. Last summer’s robust marigold crop placed in a large planter at the front of the home suffered unto death in lacking rainfall. Amazingly the marigold father figure had planted its seed shallowed, to be sure, but enough that a new generation sprouted and bloomed prior to winter’s onset. Now that was a father with determination. That marigold father deserved a carnation boutonniere. He might be considered representative of WWII fathers who perished to save the liberty of their offspring. And thusly they flourished, as did a couple or three generations after the WWII KIA fathers.
Marigolds became a delightful easy-to-grow item that was planted in the northwest corner of the farm garden of the 1950s. Dad planted a huge garden, but a small northwest sector was rationed off into squares awarded to each of his children who desired a plot to plant. Sure, Dad kept the best land for the family veggie rows. The northwest corner proved less productive due to a garden edge apple tree’s roots and the shade from the tree. Regardless it managed to grow marigolds and morning glories. With success grew this gardener’s fondness of the color and aroma, the latter of which many call “stinky.” Angelkeep loved the fragrance of yellow orange “stinky marigolds.”
But I digress … no, I reflect. And bonnie-sweet are the reflections of those bygone days.
Last year’s surprise second generation of marigolds finished off the year as robust as their father’s stature before death caused during the War of Drought. Then the youngies’ seed had been deliberately planted an inch deep to winter over and become the pot’s third generation within a twelve-month period. Now that’s perceived by some to be aggressive, over-the-top, fatherhood.
How will they differ from their Grandfather Marigold’s stature and sturdy stance? Will they be of the same color? Will color matter to them?
Angelkeep’s contemplative great-grandfather tossed another ash log onto the fire of the patio burning pan. The log came from a dead second generation ash tree of Angelkeep. The residence once had four preserved ash. Only one of which yet lives with signs of gasping its last. Many next generation ash appeared as volunteer trees. Many of those have been killed in their young-adulthood from the Emerald Ash Borer War. Others struggle. One first-gen ash trunk, dead but yet standing on the south side of Angelpond, probably reflected on the youngies. It’s what old men did when coming up on another Father’s Day.
This old-school reflecting great-grandfather just might stop rocking on the Angelkeep patio and trek around the house and pick an early marigold bloom to tuck into a hole in the worn collar of his old Ouabache State Park tee shirt as a Father’s Day boutonniere. Why?
Because Father’s Day once represented reflection and respect.
Old-school.
Mr. Daugherty is a Wells County resident who, along with his wife Gwen, enjoy their backyard and have named it “Angelkeep.”
