Good Dads! Thanks for Your Hard Work!

Dad and me 1971
Dad and me 1971

Daddies. They’re so wonderful.

First of all, they usually smell good.

My dad wasn’t much of a cuddler when I was growing up. But sometimes I could sneak up on him when he was lying on his back on the floor watching TV at night right after he did his sit ups.

I’d crawl over at age 2, age 4, age 12, age 16, and somehow manage to wriggle my head onto his Fruit-of-the-Loom T-shirted chest, which was strong, furry and just smelled like SAFE.

It meant a lot to me that he’d let me put my head there while we watched Cheers or Benson or The Miss America Pageant, gossiping and giggling together.

Brought up by a non-hugging German mom, this kind of physical closeness was out of his comfort zone.

And on really affectionate nights, he’d massage my head with claw-like robot hands.

Each robotic squeeze on my scalp told me, in ways he wasn’t capable of telling me, that he loved me. And would protect me. And would always be my net. Whether I liked him or not. And there were times I didn’t like him. But always loved him.

I suspect the feeling was mutual. Thanks dad. I love you!

Also, here’s a sweet post on HuffPo from one daddy who writes so beautifully about how becoming a stay-at-home dad made him a feminist.

(Good dads, we need you. Daughters, sons and women alike. Keep up the good work!)

Brian Gresko writes:

“My 5-year-old son Felix is a hand-holder.
Whether strolling down the street, or climbing the steps to build LEGO in his room, or escorting me out of his pre-K classroom at drop-off, he wraps his soft little digits around my long, dry, increasingly wrinkled ones.
Sometimes he holds my hand to offer a gentle squeeze of support, or to emphasize a joke, or simply to express gratitude.
Me? I’ve never been into such public displays of affection.
My wife would reach for my hand and I’d give it to her all limp, hanging heavy and listless.
I’d rather make out, which at least seems passionate, then link myself to another person in such a corny, weak, co-dependent way. Walking arm-in-arm, ok. But holding hands is so… girly.
At least that’s what I thought …” 


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