Yakov Always Hated Father's Day
Yakov always hated Father’s Day, and he thought he always would…
He never had much of a father to speak of, and the man that held that title was not worthy of a card or kind words, but he was forced to grin and bear it every year. The card, the family dinner, the hallow words…he had to swallow it all until the day he moved out. He was finally free, at least until he got older.
Then those years haunted him…
Yakov had always wanted children for as long as he could remember, but he was afraid…so terrified that he would turn out like his father. These thoughts plagued him for so long that he never got around to having a child of his own, and the holiday would just be an excuse for guilt and way too many shots of vodka…until Viktor came along.
The boy looked kind of nervous as he held out a card full of colorful scribbles and the juice box Yakov had packed in the boy’s lunch the night before. He went to his office and cried for awhile while he was on the ice, but you could never get him to admit it.
Then there was Georgi, who would always bring him a card and homemade breakfast item. He was unable to stomach the ketchup sandwich he was gifted in the early years, but he loved it anyway.
And Mila, who would always bring him a card and whatever pretty plants she found on her way to the rink, even if they happened to be leaves or spikey weeds.
Yuri with his “old man” cards, that always had something sweet on the inside that no one could see but him, and a note on the bottom that read: “There’s pirozhki on your desk.”
He never hated Father’s Day again…and if you were to search his office you would find a box, stashed in the locked drawer in his desk, that held all his memories. A box that contained cards and dried leaves alike, with a few ketchup packets thrown in just for laughs.