I originally published this piece for Father’s Day three years ago, but it’s just as true today as it was then.
I guess it’s just semantics, but to call it Father’s Day doesn’t seem fitting for you, dear husband of mine.
A Father comes home from work and needs time to unwind before interacting with his kids.
A Daddy — even after working an overnight, 11-hour shift — takes only a few minutes to change out of his work clothes before helping with a puzzle, playing a game of chase or lending Mommy a hand in the kitchen.
A Father doesn’t like to be laughed at.
A Daddy will do whatever it takes to start the squeals and giggles, including dancing; screeching and jumping around like a monkey; and acting like an old woman complete with falsetto voice and babushka.
A Father doesn’t try to understand his kids, he just wants them to understand him.
A Daddy constantly struggles with the line between being authoritative and compassionate.
A Father plants obligatory kisses on foreheads and gives brief hugs.
A Daddy wrestles and hugs; tousles and tickles; squeezes and smooches.
A Father lectures his sons about how to be a good man.
A Daddy just goes about his life without realizing every day he’s showing his sons what it means to be a good man.
A Father expects some day, his sons will want to be just like him.
A Daddy really has no idea what his sons will be, he only hopes they will be happy.