Monday, June 16, 2008

My Dad Is A Fat, Lazy Bastard

Or apparently that’s what Hallmark thinks.

While this isn't exactly Dallas-specific, this city has bored me lately, so as I trolled through my token holiday card default store this past week, my alter-ego Cruella was in full mental swing.
She is the “evil” part of me that can turn any pure, innocent idea into something monetizable - like Father's Day, and she's also the part of me that can go from calm to headcase in about 3 seconds if someone is wasting my time.

Nevertheless, my big money idea this day wasn’t genius – couldn’t possibly be unique or even that profitable, but where the hell are the cards for the dads who aren’t lazy sons of bitches... the dads whose idea of a Father’s Day isn't to sit in a recliner with a beer, belly peeking out of a too-small T-shirt while getting off on having control of the precious remote for one day of the year.

I spent 45 friggin' minutes looking for the one card that actually had my father in mind. I didn’t find it. Because you don't make one, assclowns. So, I did your fucking job for you & wrote my own card.

Maybe I’m naïve, but I have a hard time believing that 98% of dads in this world have raised successful, ambitious children by scratching themselves while napping in a velvet, Coors-stained recliner with the flicker of a football game in the background... or that the majority of daughters purchasing a card for their fathers can find humor in a joke about credit card bills or asking for money.

Hell, Hallmark, maybe I've been wrong for all these years. Maybe there's no better way to say Happy Father's Day than "Thanks for never teaching me to stand on my own two feet, or never conveying the value of a dollar & a hard day's work, or never correcting my idea that credit card bills really don't get paid by the credit card fairy."

Call me crazy, but I needed a card thanking my white collar, non beer-drinking father for his dedication to showing up for thousands of sporting events throughout my childhood, for pushing me by asking “What happened to those three points?” when I brought home a 97 instead of 100, for challenging me to dream big and to dedicate all of myself to my passion in life, for teaching me that this is very much a run-on sentence, for giving me the tools I needed to make it in my career, in this money-washed & value-stripped city, in this life.

He is not a man of transparent connections, or of schmoozing, or of ass-kissing. He is a big thinker, a tough negotiator and a competitive sonuvabitch. He is an entrepreneur – a man whose every minute is precious and who gave many more of them to my family than he ever did to a beer or a recliner.

So, Hallmark – who the hell raised you? I want my 45 minutes back. And you are welcome for purchasing the blank card & doing your job for you – that’ll be $225. Yeah… I forgot to mention, I’m not free. And my hourly rate increases for morons. Daddy didn’t raise no fool.

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