Sunday is a busy day for me. Consequently, Sunday is a busy day for my family. We still have time for rest and recreation, but bigger plans usually get pushed off to Monday.

Of course, Father’s Day falls on a Sunday.

Truth be told, I’m not a huge fan of second-tier holidays. I’m not offended by those who celebrate anything and everything. To me it’s just a good excuse to grill what I want to grill. But as my kids have gotten older and have become excited at the prospect of celebrating me, it’s become more fun.

Sunday, being busy, meant I got to rest, relax, and grill (bratwurst, FYI). It was rainy, and we just hung out. My kids did get me presents. This is where the fly fishing part comes in:

• Cards. Illustrations, really. The baby didn’t get in on the action, but the older three drew fishing scenes for me. For the oldest two, it was me and them fishing together. Pictures do speak a lot of words.
• Snacks. Licorice and spicy trail mix. Delightful.
• Flies. My amazing wife took the boys to the fly shop (Postfly’s brick & mortar) to pick out some flies for me. One chose an olive scud. The rest are big, shiny, rubber-legged monstrosities. They’ll fish great. More impressive is my wife taking four boys into a fly shop.

The fun actually started the night before Father’s Day. We went to Bass Pro and wandered semi-aimlessly. I bought the boys some conventional lures and Moon Pies. I bought myself some luxury cooler accessories. We looked at fish. Then, the piece de resistance: fried clams at the seafood shack down the road. A fried, whole-belly clam is reason enough to live in New England. It also makes for a mighty fine Father’s Day Eve.

Monday was the star of the show. The big boys are done with school, and the snow/mud is virtually gone in the White Mountains. That means hiking. And Father’s Day means fly fishing was able to be a featured part of the whole event.

We hiked in about two miles to a remote pond. Lively, colorful little brook trout hit on the first five casts. Everyone caught fish and we stopped counting. Even the baby got to touch a trout. Beyond that, we lunged at salamanders. We chased dragonflies. We grabbed leeches… before all of us realized some of the more nuanced behaviors of the species.

We got to soak in a beautiful day in the mountains, all by ourselves. Trout were part of it, just like Father’s Day was part of it. The holiday, the brookies, the drawings, the bratwurst, and the clams were, each of them, parts of it. They’re all special, but not particularly special unto themselves. Father’s Day weekend they all came together in the context of  my family being together. I also realized that all of those parts happen throughout the year. Usually, they don’t correspond to any special designated day on the calendar. It is “normal” family stuff. They just happen. But as my kids grow and as we get busier, I’m doing my best to appreciate each of them every time they happen.