Cards From Kids

I didn’t mention much about my Father’s Day this year. Mostly I was feeling kinda down. I also had to work the night shift that day, so my family left me alone to sleep. However, they didn’t forget about me.

Our two youngest (ages 13 & 15) each made a card for me. They wrote what they felt and it made me happy. My son gave me a gift card and my daughter made a painting for me.

My oldest daughter didn’t do anything like that for me. She brought me a cup of coffee in bed and briskly wished me a “Happy Father’s Day” before rushing off to her job. I still appreciated the sentiment because I am doing my best to treat her as an adult. So her and I talk respectfully to one another.

I know my kids love me. They know I love them as well. I put them before anyone or anything else.

Rocking “The Dad Look”

Today I am going out into the world as a fashion model for fathers around the globe. I am showing off “The Dad Look” by just being me. Let us break this look down, shall we?

First note is of the entire ensemble. Light tones with a dark belt and the hair parted to the side. Use of hair spray recommended to keep this aspect of the look in place. Day old facial hair scruff and a slight gut says to the world, “It’s my weekend. Time to unwind standing by the barbecue or on the golf course.”

Let’s take an even closer look at the clothes and accessories that complete the perfect “Dad Look” for 2018:

Take note of the lovely diamond earrings. These symbolize the freedom of your lost youth and the yesteryears’ spending of money on oneself prior to having children. This was probably the last time you could Treat yo’ self without guilt setting in. It’s also good to note that Diamonds really are forever, since you’ve been wearing them regularly for at least a decade now. Their sparkle is fading as well since you don’t clean them as much as you once did.

Next we need to add a splash of cool while sticking to a budget.

For the perfect outfit, you need to hit up the local VV Boutique (aka Value Village Thrift Store). Purchase for yourself a brand new short sleeved, button up, baby blue and light yellow plaid shirt and a pair of linen pants (both with original store tags on) that were clearly donated with you in mind. This will keep a Dad looking unimposing and unattractive to all women while on the school grounds or park. Should another father appear, you will be easy to bond with them because they should be wearing a similar fashion.

What better way to accessorize the shirt and pants than with a pair of blue tinted sunglasses you got for free with a cheap bottle of vodka? Remember to keep them hanging off your breast pocket because those glasses sit crooked on your face- and it’s so much better to squint at the sun than have your head look lopsided.

To finish off the proper “Dad Look” of 2018, you need to show off your fun side. Here’s where you add the Mickey Mouse watch that you got from a previous trip to Disneyland with the family. All those fun memories come flooding back as you check the time throughout your day.

This is what it means to be a Dad- so you may as well rock the look all summer.

Of course later in the summer you will need to break out the cargo shorts and knock-off Birkenstock sandals (wearing optional white socks are permitted). So stay fashionable old man!

Have a great Father’s Day!

Father’s Day 

I’m always writing about my kids.  They’re pretty fantastic little humans.  If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be able to celebrate today as a father.  (Go figure.)  Instead of blathering on about my children (again) I’d like to share a single story about my father today.

My father and I.


My father was a hard worker.  He put in long hours at the office, and in his free time he went golfing.  He was transferred from city to city- so he uprooted his family every few years.  Providing an income and a home for his wife and kids was about the extent of his fatherly duties.  In his mind, that was his only responsibilities when it came to raising my sister and I.

“FATHER OF THE YEAR”

Years ago, we lived in Edmonton near a couple of large dirt hills.  In the winter, the neighborhood kids would drag their sleds over and we spent hours speeding down the hills.  In the summer, we spent hours riding our BMX bikes down.  

I was five years old the first summer we lived there.  A group of us walked our bikes to the top of the hill.  The other kids took turns riding down.  That side of the dirt hill had a smooth, gradual slope.  Each of them went a couple of times before realizing I was still at the top with my bike.  I stood with my bike between my legs and was terrified to try riding down the hill.  Then the peer pressure and taunting began.  

I started to walk backwards with my bike wishing to crawl into a corner.  I wasn’t ready to be a daredevil and race down that hill.  I was so scared, I just wanted to go home.  I was still walking backwards and turned away from the other boys quickly.  Soon I was heading straight down the backside of the dirt hill.  My feet dragged behind me trying to slow myself down.  I gripped the handlebars with all my might and tried to steer.  About halfway down- I lost control.

The bottom of the hill hit me fast.  Bloody and bruised, I picked up my bike and hobbled towards my backyard.  From the top of the hill the other kids were screaming out my name, but I didn’t turn around.  My goal was to get home.  I needed my mommy. I was nearly at our gate when my father burst out of the kitchen and down the porch stairs.  I saw him and that’s when I began to cry.  I dropped my bike and ran to him with my arms spread out.

I’d love to tell you that he lifted me up and hugged me.  That he held me tight and whispered that everything was ok.  It would be a fantastic end to a horrible experience for a battered and bruised child.  I’m crying as I write this- because that never happened.

He grabbed my little arm with great force and spun me around throwing me back at my bike.  He made me pick up the bike. He grabbed my arm again and dragged me and the bike back to our home.  As I sobbed he hurled insults at me.  I struggled to break free from his hand, but his grip was firm.  We got to our home and he finally let me go. I ran and hid in the bathroom, terrified of what would happen next.  An eternity must have passed.  I finally gained control over my breathing and looked at myself in the mirror.  Fat lip and bruises on my cheek.  All covered in a mix of blood, dirt and the tears of a scared little boy.  Thanks dad for being there.

To this day, I refer to my dad as an asshole, because that’s how I remember him.  Everyone else thought he was the funniest, nicest guy around.  He was dark and regretted having children.  Trust me- he told me enough times.  

My father gave me a name.


He died before I married and had children of my own.  From his parenting, I take from him many things.  Like how to cook, do home repairs, and drink beer.  From his lack of parenting skills I vowed to be there 100% for my children.  I made promises to never miss a birthday or a special event.  Work would never come between me and watching my children succeed.  Anger would never keep me from pausing for a moment to listen to my children and hug them when they need it.  

In my eyes- I’m the better father than he ever could have been.  He’s been dead for over fifteen years.  But the memories of a frightened child, thirty five years ago, will never forget him.