TimmyDaddy: On Father’s Day

By Tim Sullivan

I called a brainstorming meeting with the children on the Tuesday before Mother’s Day while Kristen was at book club. Elliott suggested that instead of “wasting your money” on a bracelet I could just make one with the rubber band jewelry maker. Smart kid.

We crafted up a beauty and hid it under the bed, but then Margo was too excited to not present it as soon as Kristen got home. She redeemed herself by following through on her promise to make “big, huge, giant cards” to give mommy on Sunday along with breakfast in bed and a necklace I wasted my money on. It was low key just like my wife (says she) likes it to be.

When I was a kid I’d walk down to Gristedes Grocery to buy mom a box of Russell Stover chocolates for Mother’s Day. Of course as soon as she opened it and shared with a gaggle of nougat-crazed kids, the box was practically empty. But she had a way of stretching the moment out to give me my due for authoring such a perfect Mother’s Day notion. She would examine the piece as if trying to identify a rare bird and then check the reference card to ascertain what great treat lurked beneath the dark chocolate. As a way of saying thank you, she’d savor it like it was the most delectable morsel she had ever encountered.

For my old man on Father’s Day, it was a tin of Planter’s mixed nuts. The nuts that were typically found in our kitchen were Pathmark brand and most unfortunately, still in their shells. We had a stable of medieval implements like nutcrackers, sharp picks and a small hammer to aid and abet us in liberating the nuts from their armor but it was no task for the meek. The rush of excitement at actually cracking one open would be tempered by the distinct lack of salt and the inedible portions we discovered while chewing. So, come Father’s Day, I’d imagine my dad’s thought process to be something along the lines of: OK…these ties and homemade cards are sweet but where is the curly headed one with those luxuriously unshelled nuts?

It still feels somewhat surreal to be on the receiving end of Father’s Day affections these days. All I really want is the new Jason Good book on parenting. I may buy it for myself if I can’t wait that long and Kristen will seethe because I’m always jumping her gift ideas, but I like her to feel challenged. I do expect the cards to be big, huge, giant and awesome.

By the way, did I ever explain how the TimmyDaddy name came about? Well, Atlanta friends call me Tim but when I’m in the Tri-State area it often reverts to “Timmy” which magically lops off about two-thirds of the years I’ve accumulated. Anyway, when Elliott was a nascent walker-talker we were up in New Jersey visiting Kristen’s sister Mary, her husband Jim and their kids. They all call me Timmy. Elliott was just piecing words together at this point and in an all-out effort to get my undivided attention blurted out “Daddy Daddy! I mean Timmy! I mean…TimmyDaddy!”

TimmyDaddy has become something of a moniker and a raison-d’etre. I’d put it in the same category as Doc McStuffins and The Hamburglar. I am Timmy. My main function on this planet is Daddy and I am awfully privileged to be able to say that. Even though as I type this, the kids are fighting over a plastic balloon thing that is in the shape of an electric guitar and Kristen is giving me a look like how about you go fold some laundry, Mr. Raison-D’etre? I wish a very happy Father’s Day to all of the dads who know where I’m coming from.

Tim Sullivan grew up in a large family in the Northeast and now lives with his small family in Oakhurst. He can be reached at tim@sullivanfinerugs.com.