My dad has been a father for sixteen years. Obviously for the first two years I was too young to understand the custom that is over 100 years old. As a toddler I still had no concept of what it was about but I enjoyed the gift that my mother wrapped for me so that I wouldn’t feel left out. It didn’t hurt that even though we celebrated in the morning with gift giving after breakfast there was chocolate cake to conclude the observation of the ritual.
Once I started school I was thrilled to come home with the gifts and cards I had made in class. There was the clay coffee mug, numerous personalized book marks and the hand drawn gift certificates that promised services such as car washes and house cleaning. Mom would wrap them for me and hide them away until Sunday morning.
As I got older school gifts were discontinued and store bought ones had to substitute. Shopping with mom was always fun because it still included a gift for me and supper at a fast food restaurant.
Year after year mom always bought dad the same gift. There is a traditional joke about the “Father’s Day Necktie” symbolizing the low point of gift giving, the argument being that the gift giver couldn’t be bothered to find something more appropriate. In contradiction my dad loved to get his new tie every year and put it on immediately to display it proudly even though he was usually still in his pajamas.
He would thank mom with a big kiss and promise to put the tie to good use. Dad’s job didn’t require wearing a tie and the only times I ever saw him wear one were the rare occasions when we went to church for weddings or funerals and the one night a year when he and mom went out for their anniversary.
I saw how happy he was and wanted to be just like him.
Then I reached my “rebellious teen years” and I didn’t so much celebrate the occasion as I did tolerate it. My dad who I once had worshipped had become, in my mind, an enforcer of pointless rules and a dispenser of unwanted advice. Mom would buy a gift to be given by me, I no longer thought it was cool to be seen shopping with her, and she would pick out a silly sentimental card because she didn’t consider the humorous ones I wanted to be suitable.
At age sixteen I observed several disturbing incidents in my life that prompted me to examine the sort of relationships that some of my friends had with their fathers. Some were distant, some abusive and some had no connection at all. In a moment of surprising maturity I realized that my dad wasn’t so bad after all and I owed it to him to let him know how much he meant to me.
Being one who likes the shock effect of a theatrical production I devised a way to get maximum effect from my efforts. I told my parents that this year I wouldn’t be home for Father’s Day.
I explained that Billy was going fishing with his dad and had invited me along. I would be leaving Saturday morning, staying over at their cottage and not getting home until later on Sunday.
Mom was very disappointed in me and began to lecture on family values but dad tactfully intervened and said it was okay, it would be fun for me. Besides he said jokingly ‘Mom and I don’t get enough time alone, it will be nice to have you out of the house.’
I felt bad for them but stuck to my plan hoping they would see my point when it I sprung my surprise. Saturday I packed a bag and drove my bicycle to Billy’s house. There was no fishing trip and Billy and I played video games and watched movies until about 2:00 in the morning before finally conceding that we needed some sleep.
Early the next morning I left Billy to have the day with his family and I cycled home. I waited outside until I could hear dad singing loudly (and horribly) in the shower. That meant that mom was busy in the kitchen making breakfast and it was safe for me to sneak in.
I quietly opened the front door and slipped in. I made a dash for mom and dad’s bedroom. I entered quickly and went to the closet. In the dim light I almost tripped over dad’s pajamas that were in the middle of the floor. My plan was to wear one of dad’s ties when I unexpectedly showed up for breakfast to show him in my way that I wanted to be like him.
I opened the closet door and his tie rack was empty. I was confused. There was always a collection of various ties, some colorful, some plain. I closed the door and before I could contemplate the mystery any further the spring latch of the door clicked loudly.
The metallic click was answered by a long, low “mmmm”. The sort of sound you hear when someone tastes something they really like for the first time. I turned to see my mother lying on the bed. Had I known or even had the vaguest inkling what I was about to see I would have averted my eyes and ran from the room. As it was natural curiosity had me assess the scene.
Mother was wearing a skimpy black lace brassiere and matching panties. Black stockings with lacy tops graced her legs. It was good that she was lying down because the black pumps that were on her feet had heels that were clearly too high to actually be walked on. As shocking as that initial examination was there was more…mom was tied spread eagle to the bed!
A pair of narrow striped ties were bound around her wrists and tied to the bedposts at the head of the bed. Another pair of wide striped ties secured her ankles widely to the posts at the foot of the bed. The ends of a white silk tie that had been stuffed into her mouth protruded from the corners of her bright red lips and a black silk tie had been tied into a tight cleave gag to hold it in. Her teeth bit deeply into the cleave gag.
To my relief a crimson red scarf had been tied over her eyes.
The remaining ties were laid carefully on the white satin sheets beside her for a future purpose that I had no intention of speculating on.
I quickly left the house to the strains of my father’s joyous singing in anticipation of this years “tie” knowing now what he meant by “it will be nice to have you out of the house”.
As I went back to Billy’s in hope that he might let me wait there for a suitable period of time before returning home I realized that now more than ever I wanted to be just like my dad.