It’s nice being a father on Father’s Day!

June 19, 2001 10:01 AM
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FATHER’S DAY came and went and left me with some happy memories. Can I share them with you?

Sundays at the DiRocco home are different than the other days of the week. I forego a tall glass of fresh orange juice only for a typical bill of fare - bacon and eggs over light, sometimes with sausage, is typical. I like my toast well-done. Once in a while, fresh-brewed coffee wins over a glass of cold milk. The latter is a new phenomenon. I’ve never been much of a coffee drinker. Perhaps it’s because in my youth all my relatives poured it down cup after cup to my amazement. Any time of the day was time to brew a pot of coffee.

Whenever the doorbell rang, my grandmother - God bless her - surmised it was her sister, my Aunt Sue. She would quickly dash to the stove to make fresh coffee. At the same time, she would order me to open the door. I would comply.

Can I tell you about Grandmom’s coffee? It was so strong it could lift weights. Is it any wonder I always opted for a glass of milk?

Things have changed. Coffee is now an option ever since Mike and Sandy gave us a coffeemaker that grinds its own beans.

But I digress. When I woke on Father’s Day, there was an envelope with a greeting card enclosed. It sat on top of a large box on the nightstand. When I saw the box I went bonkers. It was a Krispy Kreme container filled with jelly doughnuts.

It’s important to know that I’ve been a doughnut eater most of my life. Not so with Eileen. So having a doughnut treat was really a treat. The card was signed by my three French bulldogs, Cheech, Johnnie and Dino. A sketch of their foot paws was on the bottom of the card with a cute P.S., "Don’t tell Mom what we got you."

The lady of the house must have been waiting for me to wake up. She heard me wrestling with the box to get it open. She paraded in with a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Wow! What a way to start Father’s Day. Eileen promised she would not breathe a word about the doughnuts to Dr. Atkins.

As I downed my last treat, the telephone rang. It was my son, Eddie. He called to wish me a happy Father’s Day and tell me of his intention to take us out to dinner that evening.

"You pick the place, Dad, it’s your day!"

I did. We went to Morton’s steakhouse.

Now, hold the fort! There’s more to this Father’s Day. In the back seat of the car, Eddie had placed a large box. It, too, was topped with a greeting card.

When I got home, the box was opened and inside was a new DVD player with all the bells and whistles. And, more importantly, there was a videocassette of The Sopranos’ first season.

There’s something to be said about being a father on Father’s Day. I just said it.