Father's Day always sneaks up on me, but as June 15th approaches, I find myself thinking about all the quiet ways fathers show up throughout our lives. It's not just the big moments we remember—though those matter too—it's the steady, almost invisible presence that becomes the foundation everything else is built on.
There's something about the way dads notice things. They see the squeaky hinge before it becomes a problem, remember to check the oil, and somehow always know when you need encouragement without you having to ask. They're the ones who teach you to drive with infinite patience, who stay up late helping with projects, and who celebrate your victories like they're their own.
I have this memory from when I was eight, living in Kingstree, South Carolina. My dad would take my sister and me down to the creek—a tributary of the Black River that eventually joins the Waccamaw near Pawley's Island. We'd fish with long bamboo poles, bobbers, hooks, and worms. Nothing fancy. Mostly brim, the occasional catfish. We kept our catch in an old, beat-up metal bucket with a thick wire handle, filled with creek water.
One day, Dad was on the opposite side and asked me to bring the pail over. Rather than walk all the way back to the road and around, I had the bright idea to just throw it across—empty, of course. I grabbed the handle, hauled back, and hurled it with all my eight-year-old might. Too high, too light. To my horror, the bucket dropped halfway across and started to sink. Dad calmly fished it out with a long branch before it disappeared forever.
There's no life lesson there, really. Just a memory that surfaces from time to time—a piece of the story I share with my dad. I still have that bucket, and I'll never let it go.
As we get older, that relationship deepens. They become the person you call when you're buying your first house, when you need advice about a career change, or when you just want to talk through a problem with someone who's seen a few more seasons of life.
I see this appreciation for quality and craftsmanship in so many of the dads who visit the gallery. They understand the value of something well-made, whether it's Carol Louise Mayer's characterful clocks that will tick faithfully for decades, or David Wyke and Steve Noggle's wooden bowls that grow more beautiful with use. These men appreciate the difference between something mass-produced and something crafted with care.
Maybe it's because fathers themselves are craftsmen in their own way—building families, fixing what's broken, creating stability from chaos. They deserve objects that match their own commitment to doing things right.
This year, I'm ready with gifts that honor that spirit.