As a culinary professional I have seen most holidays as just another working day. A day in which other people go out and celebrate. That held true for me until Fathers’ Day on June 19^th, 2010. That was the day my first son was born. My wife went into labor in the very early hours the morning before when her water broke. She labored over the 30 or so hours culminating in an emergency c-section. After my wife and I welcomed our son into the world. He underwent the usual rituals of stamping his hands and feet and general checkup. Then he was returned to my wife’s arms for so much needed rest. I took this opportunity to get myself a cup of coffee. I took the elevator down to street level and crossed the street to the local coffee shop. As I stood in line waiting for my coffee another patron looked at me a said happy Father’s Day. At first it did not register that they were speaking to me. Then I realized that they had noted the hospital wristband I was wearing. I thanked them a bit awkwardly and turned to leave. As I went out back onto the street, I reflected on the fact that this was now and for the first time a day that meant something more than a busy brunch.