I’m not going to see my daughter on father’s day this year. I agreed to this (why did I agree to this, again?) because my co-parenting relationship involves concessions, compromise, and trade-offs. Even though our agreement states that the other parent gets the kiddo on their own respective gender-based-hallmark-holiday, my thought at the time  was, we never really cared about Father’s Day with my dad, so why should my own Father’s Day be any different?

Growing up, my family never really emphasized gift-giving, and this spilled into general holiday apathy. Perhaps this started with my tearful acceptance of “the starter robe” (another story for another time) at a particularly unfun-for-everyone Christmas. This doesn’t mean we don’t all relish the opportunity to get together, but the Holiday itself is simply an excuse or vehicle (like eating crab or artichokes is a vehicle for eating mayo).

The infamous “starter robe” incident at Christmas one year  (where I was certain the last gift was that Warriors starter jacket I wanted) seems to have derailed holiday spirit at the Taylor home.   Photo courtesy: ChrisMRichards

Father’s days growing up were really just like any other Sunday at the Taylor household, and in hindsight, that wasn’t the right thing to do. I think we’d maybe do a little extra in mowing the lawn, perhaps we’d even wash his car and do the barbecuing – but really we didn’t do anything special for dad on his Father’s Day.

So as the self-proclaimed world’s best daddy (WBD) I want to take this opportunity to remedy my mistake in public and say Happy Father’s Day! to my dad and all dad’s out there. In our modern world of juggling family and work and everything else, being a good dad isn’t easy.  Thanks for being one, dad.