06/19/2026
My calendar just informed me that this Sunday is Father’s Day, which is good because, like most dads, I had not been paying attention to it at all. Except for the sales. We see the sales. We always see the sales.
Also, like most dads, I may be asked what I want.
The truth is, speaking only for myself, and maybe for a whole secret society of dads everywhere, we really don’t want anything.
I didn’t understand that when I was younger. I used to hear my own father say it and think, “Come on, Dad. Everybody wants something.” But then I became a dad. I started working, worrying, planning, fixing, sacrificing, and occasionally standing in the pantry eating crackers over the sink because I had a family to take care of. Suddenly, I understood him.
For a dad, and I mean a real dad, the kind who shows up anytime, anywhere, for anything, what we want is pretty simple.
We want our children to be good people.
We want you to be happy. We want you to be fed. We want you to make good choices. Not just “eat more fiber” choices, although yes, please do that too. I mean bigger choices. Don’t eat the cat. Don’t stick your fingers in a light socket. Don’t become a politician unless you are prepared to disappoint Thanksgiving permanently.
For us, every day you don’t become a serial killer, accept a bribe on the House floor, or accidentally release a plague from a questionable laboratory, that is Father’s Day.
Every day I can say, with pride, “Look at my kid,” and not with dread, panic, or the tone of a man watching his insurance premiums rise, that is Father’s Day.
So what do I want on the designated, corporate-sponsored, necktie-adjacent holiday?
Do something for your dad.
Push him gently out of the way when he starts washing the dishes.
Hold the flashlight while he fixes your car. Preferably without sighing, rolling your eyes, or aiming the beam directly into another dimension.
Laugh at his corny dad jokes. Not the fake laugh either. Give him the good stuff. The premium chuckle.
Let him do the grilling, because he has been training for this moment since the discovery of fire. But make the sides. A man cannot live on char marks alone.
And for the love of all that is holy, and I am saying this with my whole chest: do not try to force him to relax unless he has specifically requested it.
Trying to make a dad relax is like trying to take the Tasmanian Devil to a spa. It sounds peaceful in theory, but in practice, you are just going to create a stressed-out tornado in flip-flops. Some dads relax by doing things. Some dads rest by reorganizing the garage, fixing something that was not broken, or standing in the yard and silently judging the grass.
Let him be.
So whether he is your dad by birth, by marriage, by association, by love, or by choice, and I have many “children” out there in that last category, do what you can.
Give him the last-minute homemade card.
Give him the socks or the tie.
We probably don’t need either one, but we know what they mean. And yes, we will find the right occasion to wear the Patrick Starfish boxers. Probably under dress pants. Probably proudly.
But most importantly, give him a hug.
Tell him you love him.
Because underneath all the jokes, all the grilling, all the flashlight instructions, all the “I don’t want anything” speeches, that is what he really wants.
To know that the people he loves know how much they are loved.
And maybe, just maybe, a side of potato salad or a large bag of cash.
