The Lad in the Dad

My father turned 67 this past weekend, which merited a visit from my ever-loving husband and myself. Father chose to do something really novel on this birthday - he decided that he wanted to spend it with his mother. I was surprised and delighted. He's become much closer to his mother in the past year, her 91st, KAH, might I add. My dear mother - who is not his current wife - made a traditional cake (the recipe to which I will not post) and it was a lovely simcha.

So here was the big question - what to get Dear Old Dad for his birthday. This is a stumper. Can't just give him a card or a gift certificate or a tree in Israel. Nope, has to show thought and have a certain value. My brother is somehow exempt, btw. He gets by with a card. But not so for number-one daughter. The cake was a no-brainer. No one makes them better than my mother - yes, I would leg-wrestle you to prove that point if tznius didn't matter and it does. But what else to get my dad? The problem is that he buys whatever takes his fancy pretty much whenever he likes, after suitable research. I get the terrier gene from him, I declare.

While never a spendthrift - this is the man who says he will ride first class when it gets there a half and hour before the rest of the plane - he has, shall we say, significantly greater resources than we do, with the exception of sitzfleisch - which doesn't package so well. I enjoy getting things for him when I have the money. It's kind of the gift-giving equivalent of finishing the Saturday NYT crossword puzzle. In 15 minutes. In ink. With a three-year old next to you. Oh, and the gift should be a surprise. Did I add that? This is also the lad in the dad thing.

We came up with three fairly good gifts: a book on "Weird Wisconsin" (bags "Weird Florida" for his next big day); a laser pointer for his many family visual presentations (usually involving cars or buildings - a constant for well over 40 years now; and a pair of hand-knit socks.

Now it was this last item I wasn't sure about. Granted, the socks are very nice: fine color, good construction - I could never have resolved the toes this well without major major instruction - super merino wool and blocked to what I thought should fit him. But SOCKS? Squishy packages don't usually cut it with the lad at heart. Add to this that he lives a good deal of his life in Florida and might never wear the darn things. And that he tends to throw everything in the washer and dryer. Oy.

But was I wrong. Way wrong. The socks were the major hit. He was really delighted, tried them on right away and seemed genuinely delighted to have something that his daughter had made (at least mostly) by her own hands. He was so pleased that it gave me a twinge that I hadn't thought of knitting something for him earlier, as I've been knitting off and on for over 20 years. Not that I'm any great shakes - but I can manage simple projects like scarves and socks.

So one lesson here - you can't always take the lad out of the dad, but, fortunately, the dad often trumps the lad when it comes down to something important. In retrospect, I'm sorry that I hadn't knitted him socks before - I hadn't realized before that something that small would mean that much to him. I've learned that lesson too ...