I had almost forgotten that today is Father’s Day, and had already begun another column, when I realized what a special day it is. Here I am, a father of five, grandfather and great-grandfather to lots of youngsters. (Incidentally, anyone under 60 is considered a youngster by me.
) It was the day before Father’s Day of 1959, when Sharon and I decided to gather up a few picnic items and head to one of the beautiful river canyon parks near our home in Provo, Utah. Technically, I wasn’t a father on that day, but I had a very expectant wife, who was due the end of the July. We decided a picnic was in order.
There was only one problem — no picnic spots. We eventually found just a spot to park, had our picnic on a grassy area and spent an uncomfortable night, sleeping in our car. The next day, we had a brief breakfast, showered, changed clothes, made ourselves a bit more presentable, went to church, and afterwards drove to Sharon’s parent’s home in Orem, where a respectable affair was already in progress.
We partied as we should, and had a great time, even though I definitely wasn’t a favorite of the senior father of the Lupus family. I don’t think he was celebrating the fact that his first grandbaby was not going to be of 100% Lebanese extraction. On the 26th of July, our firstborn arrived — Patrick, a 7-pound, 7-ounce beautiful baby.
Over the years, (66 of them since we married) we welcomed four more children, Michele, Michael Jr., Kelly, and Carrie. Quite a coll.