Father’s Day is tomorrow. Growing up, I didn’t pay much heed to Father’s Day but now, having a child of my own and seeing the bond between Mark (my husband) and Zander (our son), I can understand why a Dad might appreciate a pat on the back once a year.

My Dad died of cancer almost 10 years ago.  It took me a few years to fully get over it and now when a memory of him suddenly pops into my mind or a situation arises that I’d like to share with him, I think “oh yeah, I’m never going to see him again”. It’s a shocking and odd realization, but it happens regularly.

Truth be told, the last couple of years, it’s not as often that I think of Dad but there are certain circumstances that drum up memories. For instance, when I’m riding my bike up a long hill.  Dad always liked that kind of challenge. Or when someone talks about fly fishing. I don’t know a damned thing about it, but I pretend I do because Dad was an avid fly fisherman.  Or when I’m eating a big juicy steak.

We Macnaughtons seem to have a high tolerance for fat and cholesterol.  My grandfather ate hard-boiled eggs every day for lunch. You think I’m exaggerating. I’m not. He absolutely had to have hard-boiled eggs for lunch. Every day.

My doctor was so shocked by the low level of my cholesterol that he actually jumped out of his seat as he read the result on the computer. Not something I expect from a man who has mastered “robot talk” and has yet to make eye contact with me.

So, from a health perspective, I don’t feel that guilty when I cut into a big, juicy, fatty steak. And cutting into a steak always reminds me of Dad, who never failed to ask “are you going to eat that fat?” hoping that perhaps, maybe this time, I would let him have it.

Happy Father’s Day!