Today is Father’s Day, which I view mostly as a Hallmark holiday (although I’m sure Hallmark has it pinned on someone else to avoid the appearance of occasion-inventing.)

Not that dads (and moms) don’t deserve some serious celebrating, but there might be more awesome ways to recognize them than a $6 card with swoopy embossed lettering and a mug.

However, as with Mother’s Day (and every other holiday that falls on a Sunday), my family doesn’t make a giant deal of it because my dad is busy all day being a minister. And his family was (and my Mom still is) generally busy all day being… well, his family.

If you’re a PK (pastor’s kid), you know the drill: you get to church earlier than all the other church kids, and you stay much, much later than all the other church kids. If there’s a “lunch”, you stay even later (including clean-up).

There’s a 50% chance your mother will be your Sunday School teacher (and in my case, my youth group leader.)

There’s a 75% chance either one of your parents will be singing/playing an instrument during the service. Once you get past the age of 14, there’s a good chance you’ll be drafted, too. This includes being part of a (seasonal? whimsical?) choir, which will have many, many people in it (or just a few, if the choir is tiny) who cannot sing.

Because you are a PK, you can sing. You don’t know how it works, but it does. Genetic freaks.

There’s a 100% chance your dad will preach, and with that, a 75% chance you’ll end up as part of a sermon illustration.

If you are goofing off, your dad will notice. He has a bird’s eye view, after all. If you goof off a lot, your mother will put her hand firmly on your shoulder from behind, and you will BE on notice.

This is why you sign up for nursery duty with other people your age. You get to be a goofball during the entire service and BABIES!

Getting to church at 8:30 am and leaving around 2 pm doesn’t leave tons of time for breakfasts or brunches, and by the time you get home for lunch, your dad would like you to celebrate Father’s Day by letting him eat and watch the baseball game (edit: thanks, Dad) until he has to go back to church in an hour or so to a) prep for the evening service, or b) lead a bible study.

This is fine. After all, it’s his day.

Which it is today. My dad’s day, that is.

And he celebrated it from the pulpit, as usual.

I wasn’t there to see it, but I can promise you that I know what it looks like, and it’s one of the dearest mental pictures I have in my head… and my heart.

Because I LOVE my dad. He’s actually the best dad on earth… no offense to yours, of course.

If you’ve been to my blog on May 12th of any given year, you’ve read about him and how I feel about him… but it bears repeating any day of the year. Which is why I mention it in many other posts, too. Just search on “dad” or “father”.

(Even try “dork.” heh.)

That’s just it, though: I’m lucky enough not to need a Father’s Day or a Mother’s Day, because I can tell my parents I love them and appreciate them pretty much any day I like.

I realize I’m very blessed in that. If you have a strained relationship with your family, you can depend on an occasion to make the meaningful words okay. That’s how it is for many people I know.

But I grew up in a home where people said, “I love you!” as often as they said, “Can I have the remote?” or “Pass the chicken…” or “Meaghan, can you use an inside voice?” and so it comes naturally to me to express it as frequently as I feel it.

Which is pretty much every day… even if I forget to send the email or make the phone call at that particular moment. I’ll do it soon enough.

But… my dad.

My dad is a man of intelligence, wit, integrity, passion, wisdom, opinion, grace, gentleness, kindness, strength and joy. He has a wonderful brain and a wonderful spirit, and he gives himself to everything in his life fully.

That includes being a dad.

If I need anything, I know I can call him. If I am hurt, I know he’d want to support me in my pain. If I am excited about anything, I can’t wait to tell him.

All in all, he does pretty damn well.

Which is not a word I ever used on a Sunday in his church, but I can say it now, and he laughs.

And that’s just one of the reasons I love my dad.

Which I’ll tell him today, of course.

But the other 364 days are up for grabs, too.