Perfect Father's Day gift comes with snack bar

My own dad's been gone for more than 31 years now, but we still have to get the obligatory John Deere something-or-other for my husband's dad, and some things for my husband as well. But giving a big, well-deserved "thank you" to dads everywhere isn't why I'll be glad once Father's Day has come and gone.

My bank account, such as it is, breathes a massive sigh of relief on the Monday after Father's Day because it means there's at least a three-month respite before the next buying binge bounces by.

From the middle of May to the end of June, we have Mother's Day, Father's Day and four birthdays to scrounge for. Before our mothers died, it was six birthdays. It makes you want to count back nine months and try and figure what the big deal is about September ... maybe it's all the cuddling on those first chilly nights ...

We don't really do a big blow-out on Father's Day, even in the flush years, largely because that means I would have to cook. Requiring my husband to eat my cooking is not exactly a way of saying, "Thank you, honey, for being such a wonderful dad."

It's more along the lines of, "If I'm making you choke this down, I must still be ticked off about the toilet seat thing."

Scott and Ben, the two oldest, have birthdays two weeks apart, and Terry's falls in between them, right alongside Father's Day. This year, because Shakespeare, Food Lion, art school, church camp, Bonnaroo, and work have conspired against us, we combined all four observances Friday night. Even coordinating that one gathering called upon all of my logic puzzle finesse, my diplomatic cajoling, a few threats and downright blackmail.

From the oldest son, via Facebook:

"Expect us Midnite Thursday. Have to leave Friday pm."

From the middle son, also via Facebook:

"Girlfriend planning a campout sleepover. May not make party."

From the youngest son, as heard from the depths of PC land, where he is demolishing aliens or liberating elves:

"Does that mean I have to give up seeing the rerun of Total Drama Action's first episode? I've only seen it six times so far ..."

From the husband:

"Do I have to cook?"

From the boys:

"Umm, is Mom cooking?"

My responses were short and sweet.

To the oldest son: Let yourself in when you get here and don't let the cats out.

To my middle son: A co-ed sleepover? I don't think so.

To my youngest son: Yes. It means you will have to give up television and computer for at least the 3.2 seconds it takes you to inhale birthday cake.

To my husband and my sons: This is why they invented frozen lasagna.

This year, for Father's Day, we did something a little different. We took an early Father's Day trip to the Montana Drive-In in Estill Springs. It was the first time I'd been to a drive-in since watching Jack Nicholson carve his way through "The Shining" at the old drive-in in Winchester.

But some of my favorite memories are from the days when I was younger than Buzz and we would all pile into the old Falcon station wagon and head out to the Arnold Drive-in -- about where Lowe's is now in Tullahoma. The movie I best remember seeing there was "Peter Pan," because it seemed to my sleepy 6-year-old eyes that Tinkerbell swooped off the screen and into the night, trailing lightning bugs and stars behind her.

It was magic.

I wondered, as we parked the van and unloaded the canvas camp chairs, if it was one of those "magic moments" that has been artificially enhanced by time and forgetfulness.

It wasn't.

We watched "Up," a movie I highly recommend, and the magic was still there, contributing a chorus of crickets and katydids to the soundtrack.

"This is what I want for Father's Day every year," said my husband.

That works for me -- they've got a great snack bar, too. No lasagna, but killer pizza.

-- Mary Reeves is a staff writer for the Times-Gazette. She can be reached by e-mail at mreeves@t-g.com.