Father’s Day 2007. Yet another anniversary of yet another example of American capitalistic zeal attaching to just about any emotive event where retailers can excuse their extraction of the almighty dollar from the average advertising dupe.
Father’s Day has no real import in the grand scheme, other than someone felt it important to recognise the male of the species for the act of copulation, insemination and turning up at the hospital in time to welcome his loin-fruit into the world.
Cynic that I am, I have to admit that it’s nice to see the kids these days, as I rarely get the opportunity now that they’re grown adults. The grandchildren are still here every single day, but thankfully, I’m not. It’s nice to see them too, as infrequently as I do.
I’m struck this year by the way genetics passes on the most abstract traits from parent to off-spring. Take the gift I received this morning from my eldest daughter and youngest son.
Underneath the Transformers get-up, it’s Mister Potato-Head. He even comes with the trademark gleaming white teeth, moustache and bulbous, red nose. Just in case you tire of the Transformer outfit. Honestly, I damn near wet myself laughing. The real irony and, undoubtedly, purpose behind the manufacturers making the thing is that only an adult would get the joke. Oh, his name……Optimash Prime.
Funny how an emotion like humour is passed on by the chemistry of DNA, isn’t it?