Father’s Day Gifts: Because Even “Average Dads” Need a Little Hype
“Average fathers reach a point where they need a lot of encouragement," Charlie Brown once said. I’m not sure how Snoopy responded, but it’s true—just as Popeye needs his spinach and Wimpy needs his burgers, a father needs a pep talk.
The problem is, whenever a man admits this, he’s usually dismissed for “lacking masculinity." It’s funny, isn’t it? These days, the word “femininity" is practically taboo, yet “masculinity" is still fair game for critique.
The truth is, a retired father is a lonely creature, mostly because his “approval tank" is running on empty.
We have Mother’s Day, so naturally, we have Father’s Day. You might think it was created just to keep the social scales balanced, and you’d be right. A woman named Sonora Smart Dodd argued that if there’s a day to honor mothers, there should be one for fathers, too. Thanks to her lobbying, the third Sunday of June became an official U.S. holiday in 1966.
However, since it started as a bit of an afterthought to Mother’s Day, it’s always struggled for the spotlight. For starters, fathers themselves aren’t great at realizing they’re being celebrated. And the sons—who make up half the gift-giving demographic—don’t exactly overflow with interest. Dads are too busy running around with their heads full of work and family protection to notice anyway.
When kids are in kindergarten, you get the hand-drawn pictures and clunky crafts. But as they grow, the gifts dwindle. Eventually, Father’s Day just… vanishes from the family calendar. Everyone knows the flower for Mother’s Day is a carnation. But how many people know the flower for Father’s Day is a yellow rose? Compared to the carnation, it’s practically invisible.
Yet, as Charlie Brown noted, these men need encouragement. Back in the day, work provided plenty of it—call it “performance reviews" if you like. Sure, family gives support too, but the sheer volume of validation (and, okay, criticism) from colleagues and clients is overwhelming. Encouragement is just another word for recognition. And humans need recognition to keep their engines running.
The late author Junichi Watanabe once said, “Being a salaryman is tough. No matter how high you climb, once you hit retirement age, you’re cut off. Freelancers get to choose, but salarymen don’t." When you retire, you lose your workplace and your social network overnight. Suddenly, the number of people who look at you and say “Good job" drops to near zero.
It gets worse. From kindergarten to university to the corporate world, we’ve always lived in environments where social circles naturally expand. Post-retirement, that’s gone. You’re told to “go make friends" or “volunteer," but honestly, who has the energy for that at this stage? The result: a massive deficit in social approval.
I have no desire to go back to work. I love the freedom; I enjoy my hobbies; life is good. But the silence where the “recognition" used to be is, well, a bit lonely. Mother’s Day in Australia allegedly started as a movement to send flowers to “forgotten mothers" in nursing homes. I think “forgotten fathers" in society have it just as rough. We just want someone to notice we’re here.
A Gift is a “Stamp of Approval"
Retirement feels like a major plot twist. The body is still moving, but it’s not exactly “youthful." Life is like a train journey (a steam train feels more poetic here). Retirement is just a station where the number of stops left until the final destination has become noticeably small. An old man sits in his seat, reading a book, wondering how many pages he’ll get through. When he was young, he wanted to read every book in the library. Now, Memento Mori is starting to tap him on the shoulder.
There’s still time before the train pulls into the last station. Some people spend that time well; others don’t. But everyone shares one thing: an increase in solitude. And in that solitude, you look back. Memories just… drift in.
The first thing that comes to mind is the kids. Did I raise them right? Did I make them happy? A father never says these things out loud, but the questions are always there. A gift from a child is, in a way, the answer. It’s a “stamp of approval." It’s a sign that says, “You did okay, Dad." That recognition is what makes a man happy.
Drinking a gift of alcohol in the middle of the day is the true joy of retirement.
I mentioned Mrs. Dodd earlier. Her father was a Civil War veteran who lost his wife shortly after returning from the front. He raised five boys and one girl all by himself. Like father, like daughter.
If the gift happens to be a bottle of whiskey, I’ll drink it alone in the middle of the day, with zero regard for tomorrow. If it’s an object, I’ll set it beside me and just look at it. Outside, a light rain is soaking the greenery. The hydrangeas are in bloom. If I can spend a rainy day in June like that—feeling recognized—then I’d call that a happy life.