At our local Langley Indigo bookstore, there are two tables conveniently festooned with a variety of items that Dad apparently would want for Father’s Day.
I’m always interested in these displays, partially because I like shiny things, but mostly because when Indigo Books emerged from the transmogrification of Chapters a few years ago, I found myself entranced whenever the store offered a product suggestion for men.
Chapters was a relatively benign book shop that might have, at times, privileged male interests, but it was hardly a masculine space. Indigo, by contrast, is undeniably feminine. With its ever-growing collection of throw pillows, scented candles, and self-help books (we won’t talk about the fantasy romance selection), Indigo is BookTok, the place incarnate. Occasionally, one might find something interesting in the philosophy or science fiction sections, but even science fiction is tucked away next to young adult fiction, out of clear view from the main store, as though it were just bit embarrassing. When the powers that be at Indigo decide to tell men what to buy, it’s often cliché, but always thought provoking.
This year’s Father’s Day tables are a good example of this. There are books, of course; some on stoicism (that most masculine of philosophies), and history (WW2, of course); there are a few works of military fiction by Clive Cussler (who cannot have any regular readers under the age of 40) and Homer’s Iliad, the one shining star in an otherwise unremarkable array of modern literature. There are also notebooks for the nature enthusiast to take fishing and bird watching (hunting is absent) in the ever-dwindling wilds of our beautiful valley—and I think I saw a book about grilling.
Very little, save for a cheap novelty mug (engraved: “World’s Greatest Dad!”), and few children’s books about ‘dad’ actually reference Fatherhood, and taken at face value, the display reduces masculinity to a thin smattering of activities that seem ripped from some social media influencer’s interpretation of male living.
Additionally, not a single item (with the exception of the children’s books) seriously suggests the presence of children in the lives of the men for whom these gifts would be purchased. This may be because, for the majority of Indigo’s female clientele, their aging fathers—grandchildren-less empty nesters—neither need nor want reminders of their childless existence; but for a father of four, it reeks of self-absorption and impotency.
Every year, I am frustrated by the suggestion that I should celebrate my vocation by doing something else. “Give Dad a day for fishing! Let him have some time to himself! Give him a break!” In reality, I can think of no better way to spend Father’s Day than playing with my kids. I want my children to grow up excited at the prospect of raising their own families. What does it tell them about my values when, on the day set aside to celebrate my contribution to their lives, I take the day for myself?
In Christianity, a feast day offers the gift of celebration, something you can only do in community. The most fundamental community, from which all others flow, is, of course, the family, children and all.
On Mother’s Day, prevalent gift ideas usually revolve around experiences: a spa day, fuzzy slippers, good coffee—all good things. But in an act of rare perception, most of Indigo’s Father’s Day gift ideas suggest a male desire for action. The books are about the doing of great things (war novels, and again, Homer!), there are tools, like notebooks, to bring while mucking about in nature, and even the grilling book illustrates the bedrock male desire to be doing something consequential, even at a party.
I recently finished Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises, his first published novel, about a group of friends going to the bullfights in Spain. At some point, the protagonist goes fishing. I’ve never been one for masculine clichés. Often, I find discussions of sports, beer drinking, and whatever else I am supposed to enjoy as a man, tiresome. I don’t begrudge other men for these interests, but they don’t click for me. Thus, it should come as no surprise that I haven’t touched a fishing rod in nigh over two decades. Upon finishing the novel, I suddenly felt the overwhelming desire to go fishing: to be a man! To contend with nature, catch it with my hands, and eat it!
In another of Hemingway’s stories, Fathers and Sons, the protagonist reflects on his own father while his son sleeps in the passenger seat beside him. At first, he describes his father’s face, specifically the eyes, vivid beneath their heavy brows. Then he settles into a long meditation on the greatest gifts his father gave him, specifically, on how he taught him to hunt and fish.
Hemingway’s stories are never without their complications, and the man’s mind drifts, but the story concludes with the boy expressing a desire to visit the grave of his grandfather. The moment is characteristic of Hemingway’s agnostic acceptance of religion’s cultural and psychological utility, but it also points towards a sense in which the father is his son’s connection to their shared patrimony. The father’s acceptance, that yes, they should go and pray at the grave, indicates the value, perhaps necessity, for him to pass down his learnings to his son.
The Indigo Father’s Day displays could have easily been fixed with a few simple changes. First, there should have been some Hemingway, and a few copies of The Odyssey would have been a good idea as well. But mostly, instead of saying “here are great things to buy Dad for Father’s Day,” they could have offered a selection of books and items, almost unchanged, for a dad to use with his kids. “Take your dad fishing!” a sign could have read next to the fishing notebooks. “Rage—Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles, with your Dad!” could have read another sign perched on a copy of The Iliad.
I know, in some ways, I am asking too much. Indigo and businesses like it have no desire to participate in culture building—those waters are too fraught. And reading back over this editorial, it’s probably true they don’t need to. Profit is their business, not the support of literacy or culture. Thankfully, we don’t have to settle for what corporations offer us, and we can divine meaning from the simplest of experiences. Even a few minutes spent looking at a Father’s Day display can offer insight into how to live a good life.
Thanks for reading, and Happy Father’s Day!
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