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Daddy Speaks: What I Really Want For Father’s Day

Mother’s Day is a commercial juggernaut. Showing our moms and the mothers of our children how much they are loved by showering them with gifts, assorted and colorful shrubbery, brunches, compliments, and all of the pomp and circumstance isn’t an option–it’s a requirement. Even the mothers who do nothing for their children other than actually birthing their child deserve and get something. Rightfully so. Being a mother is the hardest job in the world.

Father’s Day? Not so much. We may get a card. The pastor at church is going so say the word “father” once in his sermon with them not referring to the Heavenly one. We may get a barbeque that we wind up spending the money on the food and actually preparing the food. The NBA Finals come on that evening and we won’t really get to pay attention to the game because the chlidren will be running around loudly in front of you and the TV as if it were just Tuesday. The gifts? They usually suck. It’ll be something we put the fake smile on; but we saw it in the bag with the generic Christmas gifts that are for the extended family members or co-workers and you forgot to get us something. If not, the “gift” is really for them and they know it’s something we don’t really want. It sucks.

Little known secret: we look forward to Father’s Day. After birthdays and sick days-where we get to act like children for the attention and we love it-it’s the day that is all about us. We constantly get our hopes up that they were paying attention to all of the hints that we really like (insert item _____) that we dropped via social media, Best Buy, written in the bathroom mirror so you’d see it when the shower fogs it up. Just for disappointment. But we’re simple, so it’s the thought that counts and our prides and joys telling us they love us suffice. We feel like we have everything we want and need with you guys; really.

What I really want for Father’s Day? I wanted to see Outkast at Governer’s Ball this weekend but the $250 for my significant other and I to attend went towards balling out for the ladies in my life for Mother’s Day. So instead, I want nothing. Absolutely nothing. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to have to think about anything substantive, no worries, no drama, no bills, or anything. I want to watch the World Cup and pretend I have a clue what’s going on (because soccer just looks like running around and kicking a ball but it’s fun) while only one person scores a goal in two and a half hours. I’ll even fold laundry while doing it. I want to chill at home in my boxers and do the unexplicable-but incredibly important to being a man-scratch myself with a beer freely because I can’t while my eight year old nephew/son is around.

I want to say to myself out loud:
Me 1: “Chad, do you hear that?”
Me 2: “Hear what? It’s quiet.”
Me 1 & 2: “EXACTLY!”

For Father’s Day I want my daughter to be taken out to brunch, the movies, the beach, whatever. Take her to Toys-R-Us and let her go nuts…here’s the money for her to have this shopping spree. Buy something for yourself, too. If you feel compelled to get me a card so I can put it on my desk and feel loved. Take my nephew/son to a baseball game.

By the time 4 pm rolls around the house is going to be too quiet. I’m going to miss everyone. The World Cup will not be as interesting without me yelling for the kids to stop fighting, sweeping up that antique they broke, or the spouse (in my case girlfriend) mad at me because I didn’t do something. When you all get home the NBA Finals are about to start, you all come in the door dog tired from today’s excitement. But the sight of me re-energizes the kids and they run and give me a big hug telling me they missed me which will remind me why I feel like I’m the luckiest man in the world: you all.

Men are backwards individuals. One day a year I need to miss everyone… to remember why I need them so much. It reminds me how much I love being a father to people I created.

The post Daddy Speaks: What I Really Want For Father’s Day appeared first on MommyNoire.

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