TMI: Too Much Information – A Member of the DDC
When I was 23 years old, I was welcomed into a secret club, which I had no idea existed. This club didn’t discriminate between age, sex, race, religion, sexual orientation or status. The DDC only met once a year, in June. While most people around the world were celebrating, the DDC drowned our sorrows with copious amounts of alcohol, sharing tears and memories of the most significant men in our lives…our fathers.
Father’s Day was a day the DDC dreaded. The absence of our fathers was reinforced with each card aisle we passed, each sign in the mall and every other commercial on the television and radio. The week leading up to it often left me queasy and bewildered.
Since then the sting has lessened, and I’ve learned to honour my father in healthier ways. There isn’t a day that goes by, when my father doesn’t send me a message. I keep his memory alive by sharing stories and laughing over shenanigans. Father’s Day for me is now every time I see a ray of sunlight stream through the clouds to the ground. I remember my father’s optimistic voice in my ear, telling me, “this too shall pass.”
Or when I’m struggling with something, and discover a golf ball in a random location, I remember the lessons he taught, and the path of least resistance suddenly appears.
And when I’m late, and speeding to my destination, my father reminds me to slow down, look at the big picture and what really matters, as the railroad crossing drops.
The most profound lesson I’ve learned since being a DDC member is that I didn’t know what true happiness was until it was gone. So now, I try to ‘stop and smell the roses,’ and express my happiness whenever I can. This is also why I laugh just a little too loud, and I hug you a bit longer, and why I say I love you every chance I get. I’m looking for the happiness. Which is the best lesson I learned from being a member of the Dead Daddies Club.