Otro día mas. Just another day. Of course, Father’s Day is not just another day. This year Quincy and I were blessed to have all six of our children and our grandchild under the same roof to celebrate Father’s Day with us. My oldest daughter, Leah and her daughter Zoey are in town for a month while my son-in-law Will serves in the Air Force overseas. Braden came home for the weekend, and my youngest four, Alex, Christopher, Benjamin and Jaycie, together with my live-in sister-in-law Samantha were all around for the whole day. They got me the punniest pizza-themed Father’s Day card in the history of man. Some highlights included, “I never sausage a great guy,” “There’s not mushroom for improvement,” and “Olive you lots and lots.”
We got our air conditioning fixed Sunday morning and we were able to sleep last night in air conditioned bliss. Quincy’s van was rear-ended in front of church (minor damage and everyone is unscathed). We had a great late afternoon dinner with everyone, featuring beer can chicken slow-cooked over charcoal, green salad, potatoes and esquites aka elote en vaso (a version of Mexican street corn). Mass this week featured my favorite Gospel reading of the year, the Bread of Life discourse from John 6. A few strategically timed naps may or may not have been taken during afternoon rain showers. We watched a 40-minute YouTube conversation on The History of the Rosary by Dr. Taylor Marshall and Fr. Donald Calloway, followed by a family rosary.
All in all, a gloriously wonderful day. And I am so blessed that such a wonderful day can feel normal. Yet somehow, through the lens of Parkinson’s, it is strange that the day felt normal. For some reason, everything seems like it should feel different. This is an extremely self-indulgent reflection. But it just felt normal. Sure, my hand is still shaking. But life is good. In confession a couple weeks ago I was counseled to pray, “You are God. I am not. And I am Yours.” Comforting words to live by.