Father's Day, as you know is always on a Sunday. My dad is a minister, which of course means he works on Sundays, so in our house, Father's Day has always been an evening addition to the regular routine of going to church in the morning, having a slow-cooker lunch, and then taking an afternoon nap. When we lived in Wyoming, we'd grill burgers on the hibachi in the backyard. When we lived in northern Minnesota, we'd go to Jay Cooke State Park to grill sausages over a campfire and take a little hike around the woods.
After I graduated from high school, Father's Day was a phone call or something sent in the mail. My father and I would have contact, and I'd tell him "Happy Father's Day!" However, we were always in different states or different countries, and we couldn't spend the evening grilling or hiking or anything like that.
This is the first Father's Day in about 20 years that I actually spent with my dad. What do you think we did? Yep, we fired up the grill! It was really windy, so while I made burgers (with tofu... don't tell Dad) and marinated portobello mushrooms, Dad pulled the grill into the covered area just outside the front door of the house. It isn't a porch, it's just a small cove barely big enough for my dad and the grill, but that was all the space we needed.
Next year, I'll be in Hawaii on Father's Day. Who knows? Maybe it'll be another 20 years before we grill again. I sure am glad that I got to spend this past Sunday with my dad. It wasn't just a "Happy" day for him; I was pretty happy, too.
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