Jr

I have never been called “Junior” in my whole life. Grandpa and I have the same name but me going by “Wes” instead of “Spencer” removed the need to be dubbed “Jr.” I even skipped my “Junior” year in high school and then took so many years in college that I don’t know which to rightfully call my “Junior” year. So why does this Father’s day make me think of Jr? It goes back to a night when Dad took all the boys to Burger King. I was especially excited because Dad had told me that I was going to get a special hamburger, he called it a “J-u-n-i-o-r” hamburger! What that meant…I didn’t know but I was sure that it was a good thing and I was excited. I found out after getting my sandwich that all “junior” meant was that my hamburger was smaller than everyone else’s— I was not happy. But instead of Dad lecturing me about how I never was able to finish a full hamburger, he gave me his burger, ate my “junior” in about three bites, and watched as I slowly made it through about half of his sandwich. He then uncomplainingly finished the cold burger and took us home. I don’t know why this memory has always stayed with me but it came in handy a little while ago when Lucy was throwing a fit at the cafeteria. She wanted my food instead of hers (mind you, same food just different proportions). I was about to lay down the law and say something like “well you can just cry about it as long as you want but you have the same food on your plate as I do on mine” but then I remembered Dad and the “junior” whopper and I realized that it was more important for me to show her that I loved her than it was for me to be right. We switched plates and had a lovely evening. Thanks for the example Dad.