It’s that time of the year again. The time when the kids ring up and ask what their father wants for Father’s Day. And I say, “Surprise him.” And they say that they have run out of surprises. Because, “He’s ancient.” And I say he isn’t. And they say: “He is!” And I tell them he isn’t. And then they sigh, saying: “How many pairs of socks, Jerry Garcia ties, wine, bottle of single malt whisky and Irish whiskey, gin, fancy aftershave, Amazon book vouchers, audiobooks, bare root floribunda roses, and not-particularly-fancy aftershave does one man need? What’s the point?”
And I hear myself saying as I do every June: “It’s the thought that counts.”
Knowing I’ll be the one doing the ordering and the wrapping.
What can we get him this year? They say, despairingly. Adding, for some reason: You know him best! And after I have stopped shaking my head with the sheer predictability of it all and their total lack of imagination and initiative (aside from their strict, inflexible budgetary limitations), I don’t have to think for very long before saying: You know the feels about Brook Taverner. How much he likes Brook Taverner.
And they ask: “Is she an actress?” because they are young and don’t know the chic British tailors going back to 1912 who make some lovely stuff for men of a certain age. They have also forgotten that, not that long ago, they bought their Dad a lovely lilac shirt.
Mainly because I did.
He still loves them and wears them. Albeit around the house, with the buttons not done up because they don’t button up anymore.
Kids may remember Father’s Day, but his special day always seems to bring on the onset of acute amnesia. They forget what their Dad likes and does not like.
He loves his summer shirts; I remind them, pointing them in the right direction. He wears them more than he ever did. Because of climate change.
You can’t go wrong with a slub. He loves his slubs.
I can hear them now: “A what?
A slub. You must have heard of a slub? It’s a go-with-anything shirt. Textured. Made from soft, lightweight slub cotton twisted while it’s being made. Making it look great without being ironed. An airy slub. One that won’t cling to your body. Or rather, your Dad’s body.
“Sounds good to me,” they say, wanting the whole ordeal to be over as quickly as possible for another year
Then it comes to the Tough Love.
Your Dad may not be quite ready for string vests yet, but he has reached a time in life when he appreciates stretchy cotton. Busy checks don’t suit him, and horizontals make him look ovoid. Not fat. Plump. Portly-ish. Portofino vertical is best. He’s been through his paisley phase. Pink is a good bet. Although I like him in lemon. He says he feels cool in lemon.”
“Bit boring, isn’t it?” they say. “Another plain shirt”, making out that I am full of dull, obvious suggestions for Father’s Day.
Then they admit to not being up-to-date with their Dad’s taste in motifs or privy to his size.
“He likes parrots. Parrots are fun. But not Birds of Paradise. He has some dignity left. Anything aquatic he likes. And is fun. I’m not sure if he is a bunch of bananas, man. I don’t see him in fruit. Botanic would be nice on him. Brook Taverner does some nice leafy patterns in their new-in, casual, climate change-friendly, summery shirts.
“Look online,” I tell them, knowing they won’t. Because they don’t have the time.
Geometrics are too buy. You choose. But nothing too floral or ditsy. And no palm trees or flamingoes. They’re ageing!
Then comes the crunch as it always does.
“Can’t you decide. I’ll only get it wrong,” they say.
And when I tell them that Brook Taverner has a quibble-free return policy, it falls on deaf ears.
Then I hear them blowing out their cheeks, and I relent. And become the Father’s Day martyr. Again.
“OK. Leave it to me.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
And, a few days later, they settle up by bank transfer, forgetting the P&P.
And we don’t hear from them until the big day itself. When they ring up and wish their Dad all the best for Father’s Day
And he thanks them for his two new lovely Brooks Taverner shirts.
And they both say: “We knew you would”.
