Rick Nelson and Claude Peck dispense unasked-for advice about clothing, etiquette, culture, relationships, grooming and more.
CP: When he was alive, my father didn’t get half the razzle-dazzle that moms get on their Hallmark-ordained holiday. Not sure why.
RN: The Mother’s Day-Father’s Day divide is wide, kemosabe. Most pops probably consider themselves fortunate if they receive a text from their offspring.
CP: Maybe it’s that most fathers don’t get bent out of shape by being ignored. Or am I wrong, as happens once in a week with four Thursdays?
RN: You sound like Glenn Close in “Fatal Attraction.” You know, “I’m not gonna be ig-norrrrrr-ed.”
CP: To me, the real meaning of Father’s Day is not the sappy heartfelt sentiments. It’s the cologne, the wristwatch, the wrench set.
RN: Dad’s Day is probably the salvation of the nation’s necktie industry, although with my dad I moved into golf shirt territory long before he retired.
CP: Both of our dads were avid golfers, yet neither of us picked up on the sport. Hmm.
RN: Unlike my agile brother, I clearly did not inherit our father’s eye-hand coordination, which explains why I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding the humiliations associated with footballs, baseballs, golf balls, hockey pucks, you name it. I had a fifth-grade tetherball incident that scars me to this day.