For a lot of people today is just another Friday in January. 

It may be the last workday before a long weekend enjoying the several feet of fresh snow in Lake Tahoe. Perhaps it’s a “sick day” before a trip down to Southern California to enjoy some much-needed sunshine. Maybe it’s just another day at the office. 

But in my world, it is my father’s birthday – which is equal parts a big deal and nothing at all to write home about. 

Allow me to explain. 

For as long as I can remember, my father had these little sayings that he would repeat to us as children, and they never quite made any sense at all. It was his father that told him these things, and from what I could put together at eight or nine years old, he had lived long enough to figure out the wisdom behind those words. 

When you’re not even double digits, being told that somebody wants “a few kind words and a place to lay your weary head” for a birthday present is kind of a head-scratcher. One year he got just that as a gift — his pillow and as many synonyms of “kind” that I could find in the dictionary printed out on dot matrix paper, cut out, and then laminated with that 1990s-era double-sided sticky stuff. 

He still has that “laminated” sheet hanging on the wall in his office, but the ink has long since faded to reveal tiny, yellowed pieces of paper encased in some sort of plastic. I guess it’s the thought that counts. 

But there’s another one of those sayings that he used to throw around quite liberally that is starting to make a whole lot of sense to me now – “by the time you realize that your father was right, you have a son that thinks that you are wrong.” I hate to admit it, but that is become truer and every day. And I don’t have to get him a birthday present this year – each and every time I share with him a story about how these idioms are coming true, he lets out a deep, guttural, “see-I-told-you-so” laugh that is better than anything that can be bought in the store. 

Most recently, as in today, it was letting him know that I have finally gotten an insulated lunch cooler and am taking leftovers with me to eat during the day that drew no less than four straight minutes of hooting laughter. I can’t be sure, but he may still be laughing about that one – remembering all of the times that I told him that I don’t like leftovers, and that I’d rather go out and buy lunch than bring something with me. 

Granted, I’m 36, so it took me a lot longer than the average person to figure this neat little trick out. I never said that I was quick on the draw with some of these things, and I’m pretty sure I could have a Porsche in the garage if I started doing this exactly half my life ago. 

The things they don’t tell you, right?

But, today is a special day. In a roundabout way, this birthday starts the clock on his retirement countdown – the last major milestone before he walks away from the same public sector job he has had for more than three decades. 

A lot of people I run into that make the connection that Dave Campbell is in fact my father are shocked to learn that he doesn’t pay his mortgage by covering youth and high school sports. No, he’s just the hardest working person that I know – by the time he hits a single sporting event he has already worked an eight-hour-day. That’s passion that cannot be taught. 

So, if you see him prowling around a scoring table tonight, or making his way through a crowd, make sure to tell him “happy birthday.” If you want to tell him it was his son that gave you the idea, I’m sure that would give him an extra chuckle. 

They broke the mold when they made my father, and while he’s quickly veering into “get off my lawn” territory, I’m proud to say that I’m his son, and only hope that I can instill in my own some of the same things that he instilled into me. 

Happy birthday, Old Man. 

Here are your kind words. You’re on your own for a pillow. 

Words that linger for a while

I learned long ago that if I did a good job in this field, the best that I can hope for was that my words would end up as the lining of a birdcage.

Maybe, maybe, they might hang around for a few days before they get placed in the recycling bin.

So it’s always an extra special treat when something that you write is somehow saved, or even better, placed behind glass and hung on the wall in somebody’s home or inside of their business. 

I haven’t had the pleasure of walking into the foyer of Sierra High School’s large gym yet this year, but every time I do it always gives me a thrill to walk over to the wall near the trophy case – I was never good enough as an athlete to contribute anything in terms of hardware – and see my column framed along with parts of the paper the day after the Timberwolves won the city’s first high school football State Championship. 

And this week, I caught something in my throat when Chris Teicheira sent me and the rest of the “Gentlemen of the Thread” a picture of his late dog Charlie – complete with the column that I penned last week framing it beautifully. 

That is literally the ultimate honor. 

So, thank you Chris for thinking that my ramblings were worth saving. I know I couldn’t have come close to accurately describing the complicated emotions you were processing – or how many people that goofy dog left an impression on – but to know that they’ll be forever saved leaves a warm spot in my heart. 

A birdcage isn’t a bad place to end up, all things considered. 

But I’m happy that this one resonated. 

 To contact reporter Jason Campbell email jcampbell@mantecabulletin.com or call 209.249.3544.