Patriarchal Excellence

Look, before I get into this one, I’d like to point out that a guy does not need motivation to be a good father. No matter what external prizes and promises lay just beyond the nursery, the mere fact that you get to take care of someone who is one half you every day, and that someone starts every morning smiling at you is truly enough. Later this week, we’ll get into baby’s first hour of the day, but for now, let me assure you that Clara’s definitely a morning person. And morning people can make non-morning people happy in the morning. We’re talking “It’s a Wonderful Life” happy. And that is enough to propel you to patriarchal excellence.

But since it exists…

This past weekend, I had my very first Father’s Day. Yes, every year in June there is a day that is set aside to praise fathers for all their general awesomeness. Gatorade overflows in champagne glasses, neckties fall from the heavens, the finest meats and cheeses for all – this is all just standard D-Day operating procedure. I spent it watching some sports, playing with my daughter, letting her sleep in my lap while Tiger came up short at Oakmont. (It should be noted that Tiger became a daddy on Monday, which means he has to wait nearly a year for his first Father’s Day. Maybe had you made that eagle putt on 18, the baby would have leapt out of womb a few hours earlier. Sucker.)

How is Father’s Day better than your birthday? You have to earn your day.

With birthdays, you’re merely celebrating another year of earthly existence. As long as you don’t die, you’re guaranteed a cake and maybe some gifts 12 months from your last one. Great job, man. You continued to breathe. Huzzah.

But Father’s Day is a merit-based day of honor. You can’t expect anyone to recognize you on that 3rd Sunday in June if you’ve refused to pick up from soccer practices, chosen solo trips to Vegas instead of attending ballet recitals or being placed in charge of dinner, only to serve an unopened can of soup with a spoon and a post-it that says “Bon Apetit.”

Mmm-mmm good?

I feel I’ve done a decent job of earning this Father’s Day. I’ve done my share of early dawn feedings, changed her diaper more than the Orioles switch managers, taken her on her first date, ensured her ticket to Heaven, taken her on many walks, set up an Olympic training regimen, and given her internet access. She knows who I am, recognizes my voice and presence from across the room, and understands that the coolest kids in the class are left-handed.

(Of course, I have no idea where she got that idea. We’ll chalk it up to Natural Order.)

Does that make me Father of the Year?

Yeah, that’s right. Father of the Year. It’s an actual award, with slightly more prestige than a fantasy football league championship. It’s bestowed on deserving dads by the Father’s Day Council. They exist to promote stellar fatherhood, while also benefiting deserving charities. This year’s honor roll of dads include:

• Miami Heat guard Dwyane Wade
• U.S. Army Chief of Staff Gen. George Casey Jr.
• Former Senator John Edwards
• Van Heusen CEO Allen Sirkin
• CBS’ The Early Show’s Harry Smith
• Middle School Principal Laurence Whitcomb
  

What do each of these great dads bring to the table? Wade had kept the promise to his two sons Zaire and Zion that when Uncle Shaq comes over for dinner, he won’t eat them. Casey once bought his kid a Sherman tank for Christmas to play with in the sandbox. Edwards promised his kids universal healthcare – all the Flintstones vitamins they could eat. Sirkin wears very nice pants. Harry Smith didn’t name any of his kids after himself, and Laurence Whitcomb hopes one day to have his middle school named after himself.

Fine credentials, gentlemen. But have you devoted a comedy blog to your kid?

Ha. Thought not.