An Ode to Dads.
Words: Emilie von Unwerth
June 19 2016
To the men who enjoy both their secret vegetable-garden-in-the-back-where-you-get-a-little-“me-time” kind, and the shirt-off-lawn-mowing-you’ve-still-got-it kind.
To the men who build the decks, fix the sinks (even though mom’s going to secretly call a plumber to fix it at work because you don’t know what you’re doing) and paint the chair molding.
To the new dads, who aren’t quite sure what they’re doing, but they’re doing it anyway – and still in impeccable style (oh we see those Common Projects, we see you).
To the guys who live for cook outs (not “barbecues”), for fishing and golfing, for swimming and for teaching the little ones how to throw a baseball, how to ride a bike.
To the young-at-heart dads who like to jam in the garage, hit the bars and laugh too loud.
To the jokesters. Your jokes are so bad, we’ve actually dubbed them “dad jokes,” (but we laugh anyway, because we love you).
To the travel-for-work dads, who are doing everything they can not to miss your ballet recital (and they really do mean that).
To the Tom Clancy, James Patterson, David Baldacci lovin’-dads whose bookshelves are piled high with C-minus thrillers.
To the gadget-loving dads, who spend literally hours on the damn computer watching YouTube, trying to figure out how to assemble their new drones.
To the “Man Cave” dads, your bro-out room smells like B.O. and stale Fritos, but if watching the game and exclusively drinking Budweiser for 4 hours makes you happy, you do you.
To the cell-phone-belt-clip-blu-tooth-head-set-wearing-EVEN-ON-WEEKENDS dads. You’ve completely sacrificed fashion for function, and we were super humiliated to be seen with you between the ages of 13 and 19, but we’ve come to accept it, and sort of salute you?
To the punk dads. We’re sorry the other parents think you’re a freak, but you are a freak, and we know you love your kids just as much as anyone else. You just look cooler doing it.
To the dads who tuck in their t-shirts. We love you, but stop!
To the dads en who wake up early on Sunday to cook bacon and eggs while still in your boxers, and your wife shouts “the neighbors can see!” but it’s Sunday and who cares anyway?
To the DILFS. The blessed, blessed DILFS.
To the dads who can’t seem to get it out of their heads that if the interior of a vehicle gets dirty, you can just clean it. (We’re going to sneak contraband Cheez-Its into your car anyway, so chill).
Last but not least, and we think this may apply to just about every single dad out there: for the men who wear shirts for businesses they do not (and never have) worked for, or for causes they know nothing about, or 10Ks they may or may not have run.
We just want to say we love you, all of you, and most things about you (even the horrific dad jokes). And while we may not always agree with your fashion choices (like, just stop tucking your t-shirt into your jeans!), and you certainly may not always agree with ours, we love you endlessly, and are truly thankful for all you’ve done for us. So crack open that Budweiser, throw a steak on the grill – or whatever it is you do to relax – untuck your shirt (seriously!), and take a day for yourself. You earned it.