It’s that time of the year.
When I’d slip into a mini-panic trying to decide what to get my father for Father’s Day.
Pete Seeger said, “If there’s a world here in a hundred years, it’s going to be saved by tens of millions of little things.”
My father lived by that belief. That’s why he had all those jars and coffee cans filled with little things—nails, nuts, washers and screws. He might have inherited some of them from his father.
He had built a couple sizable balls of twine. None approached the dimensions of being the world’s largest.
My father didn’t throw things away. It was because one of his mottos was: “You never know.”
What to get him? He didn’t need another tire. We had two tire swings hanging from a maple tree. One was the spare. We trusted the tree to remain strong.
Dad had an ancient Stanley thermos. It was battered and scraped. It had fallen off tractors and dived from the high board into a swimming pool. OK, I made up the part about the diving board, but it had stories to tell, even if it couldn’t talk. I suggested we buy Dad a new thermos for his coffee. My mother said he wouldn’t want one. He was loyal to the one that had kept him company for years and had served him well.
Dad didn’t seem to need or want much. He had a permanent Timex watch tan line on his left wrist. The Timex took a licking and kept on ticking. He had neckties. He had an old Barlow jackknife, a trusty Cee Tee pliers and a worry stone to keep him company. A worry stone is a polished oval-shaped rock – featuring a thumb-sized indentation – designed to be held and rubbed between the thumb and forefinger. It was kept in a pants pocket and used to relieve stress, reduce anxiety, and promote mindfulness.
Dad hadn’t hinted at anything he wanted.
I’ve heard people say that money was no object. I was more in the “no price is too low” category.
I was unsure what to get. I was a child. I was uncertain about most things. I asked Mom. She said, “He’ll love whatever you get him, but don’t give him any chocolate-covered cherry cordials. Everyone gives him a box or two of those for his birthday and for Christmas. He’ll be lucky to eat his way through all of them by next Christmas.”
Things come to those who wait. I was in the grocery store when I saw the perfect gift. Silly Putty. Who wouldn’t want Silly Putty? I knew I wanted Silly Putty. That was just a coincidence. I had Silly Putty that I had used so much it was about played out. I played with Silly Putty so often that I could have used that time to become a master of the mandolin.
Silly Putty stretched like taffy. Rolled into a ball, it became a bouncy ball. It provided a great tactile experience and acted as a fidget and stress reliever. A soft worry stone. Pressed firmly onto a comic strip in a newspaper, an image of the funny pages was transferred onto the putty. Molded around the end of a pencil or pen, it provided a soft, custom-fit grip for writing. It was mystifying. We were easily amazed in those days.
Silly Putty isn’t that popular anymore because of cellphones. You can’t text with Silly Putty, and the GPS capability on Silly Putty is limited.
Silly Putty fit my budget. Even as a boy, I knew my father worked too hard. I figured he needed a hobby. My hardworking piggy bank made it possible for the transaction to be completed without a hitch. The critics were astounded.
I felt the peace of having done a good thing.
I gave a poorly wrapped gift to my father with ample fanfare. My father, as was his habit, took an eternity or two to unwrap his gift, but unwrap it he did.
He thanked me for his unexpected but appreciated Father’s Day gift.
All is well that ends well.
“You can use it until I need it, Sonny.” Dad sometimes called me “Sonny.”
He never needed it.
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