June 8, 2011:  Weekly in the media it seems there's always a comparison story between females and males.  Editorial writers qualify their agenda using the latest scientific research to credit one gender over the other as the primary cause of the species' four-million-year survival.

Indulge me with this scenario.  Fifty thousand years ago in a cave in southern France:  Wife to husband: "Lugnut dear, I know you're busy painting the cave, but the carrots and cabbages that the gals gathered last fall are almost gone.  How about you and your useless friends go hunt a water buffalo or a mammoth.  The kids are hungry."

The point of my offbeat example is that it took both genders working together as a team to get mankind to the point that we could purchase the Christmas roast at the A & P in a new BMW.

In my opinion it seems the media through news stories or product commercials currently paint males and husbands as bubbling nincompoops that their wives must watch at all times as irresponsible big kids.  The examples of these commercials are many--the grill blowing up in the backyard, snoring that breaks the bedroom windows, watching football while the wife mows the lawn.  You've seen them.

The raising of children was and is the innate primary focus of our human group.  It is the mission to ensure that mankind's footprint lasts in perpetuity.  We would not have gotten this far without the solid teamwork of a mom and dad equally sharing that very difficult job.  Their job then is a full-time one for the rest of their lives.

It is completely understandable that we as a nation set aside two days a year to honor our moms and dads for guiding us to adulthood and beyond.

My dad was a tough and loving man and, believe me, the old guy had his hands full with me.  I disliked the silly rules of authority and detested being lectured to, especially when told my opinion is not welcome in a discussion, even to this day.

Fred O. McGrath (my dad), being street-smart, knew how to work around my avoidance of authority and "stubbornness."  I was going to do it my way from the B'ville ball fields, to dating, to attending BHS, to being on my own.  After trying to guide me in the life-dilemma of the week, he'd say to me, "Do it your way; we'll see the outcome, Baby."  I hate to admit this Fred, but most of the time you were right!

The guidance lessons, plus his patient tutelage of the rules encompassing the social contract, can never be repaid to him.

Fred had a big heart and no matter how angry we were with one another I always knew he loved me and if need be would die in the street protecting me even though I had pulled a brain-dead move.  Of course, for all my dumb moves I received what he called a "tongue-lashing."  I endured several, not undeserved.

While at BHS I had several collisions with teachers.  Fred was always just in his rulings after hearing the arguments on both sides.  If I was wrong, I was set straight; if they were wrong, I was lectured on how to avoid future confrontations.

My dad was like most of the dads in B'ville in the day.  Growing up, there were hours of ball catching, coaching, teaching me sports, and hanging out when he was not busy shepherding the funeral home or engaging in his many civic responsibilities.  When I got hurt playing ball he'd say, "Rub some dirt on it."  I tried that and it still hurt.

I look back now and feel bad for all the bonehead stunts I involved him in.  Fred and Betty showed me the right road to a good life in a village that nurtured its youth.

Like most kids, I drove down my road most of the time always being surprised at finding an expensive toll because I refused to read the map or listen to the directions.

Most fathers are not as commercials portray them--painting them with a haphazard brush at their expense for product memory.  My father certainly wasn't, and I doubt yours was either.

Funny, in adulthood when hurting myself working around the house, I still hear Fred whisper, "Rub some dirt on it."  See Fred, I still hear you.