In some ways, I think that Father’s Day is totally more important than Mother’s Day.
This isn’t because I think fathers are more important or do more than mothers, or that I’m anti-feminist or whatever, but it’s because I feel that dads just don’t get as much recognition as mothers do. It’s probably some sort of collective psychological thing that has sociological studies behind our view of gender roles and the father’s place in his children’s life, that someone smarter than me has actual facts and knowledge can talk about.
All I know is this: dads need some love, too. And generally, they do not have a lot of places to turn to for it. My father personally has a black list of books and cartoons — The Berenstain Bears being the chief offenders, though I believe he also may have had a vendetta against The Flintstones — that portray fathers solely as bumbling idiots who were completely lost without the sanity and wisdom the mother provided. (Though he’s a big fan of Family Guy. I don’t think it’s worth figuring out.) Heaven forbid I ask him to read a Berenstain Bears book to me (okay, I could read it myself, but my dad did voices) or he would not only refuse but launch into a rant on the stereotypical role of the father and how it was corrupting my brain and wildly incorrect and blah blah blah. Which I knew, Daddy, geez. It’s just a book. It wasn’t until I started watching TV that wasn’t on PBS that I really started understanding where my dad was coming from with his whole vendetta.