My honey was up at the crack of dawn again today and in the fields by 7. I asked for two quarts, maybe four for a double batch of jam. Fifty four dollars later, does anybody want to guess how many he picked?
Today is two things. It is Sunday and it is Father's Day. Our message at church this morning was about the prodigal son. Everyone knows the story. The youngest son asked for his inheritance early, fled, and squandered it away. When he was at his lowest point, he went back home hoping his father would let him be his servant. Instead, his father called for a celebration and killed the fatest calf. The oldest son resented every bit of this A to Z. He felt that because he stayed home and worked in his father's fields he was entitled to more attention than he ever got. His father had never even so much as killed a goat for him to celebrate with his friends. He felt entitled. Then our pastor expanded her discussion to entitlement.
This brings me to Father's Day. I think Father's Day is a bigger minefield than Mother's Day. My father left our family of five when I was four. We never saw him again. I didn't grow up feeling entitled. This spills over into adulthood. I don't feel entitled to anything today, in the present, and I'm not sure that's a good thing. From my perspective, the oldest son missed the point. He had his father by his side everyday his whole life. That's what his young brother missed out on and the fact that the oldest brother doesn't know this is the greatest tragedy of all. His brother can't get that time back. Its not always about money.
