A Note on Dads

There is a version of fatherhood that gets celebrated every June. It is represented by the guy you see on the greeting cards, in the commercials, at the barbecue with the apron and the bad jokes. He is beloved and a little bumbling, endearingly out of his depth, redeemed by his heart if not always his execution. We have decided, culturally, that this is what a dad looks like.

And then there's the actual dad.

This is the one who woke up this morning already three moves ahead in his head. He’s thinking about the meeting, the deadline, the thing he forgot to follow up on – and somewhere in that mental queue is also his kid's recital, his partner's exhaustion, and a vague but persistent sense that he is perpetually almost-but-not-quite showing up the way he means to.

He's not absent. He's not at all indifferent. He is, in fact, trying extremely hard. That's almost the whole problem.

It turns out the trying is quiet. It doesn't announce itself. It lives in the early mornings he gets up before everyone else to get ahead of the day so he can be more present later. It lives in the Saturday afternoons he physically shows up to but mentally never quite arrives at. It lives in the moment his kid looks at him – like, really looks at him – and he feels simultaneously seen and found out.

That version of dad doesn’t come up as much in conversation. The one who is neither the bumbling sitcom father nor the emotionally unavailable villain of the therapy session. The one who is genuinely, effortfully in it and still somehow feels like he's falling short of something he can't quite name.

Part of what makes this so hard is that most dads inherited a script that was already outdated when it was handed to them. Work hard. Provide. Don't be like your father but also don't overcorrect into something unrecognizable. Be present…but what does that actually mean on a random Wednesday evening when you're depleted and your eight-year-old wants to play one more game and you have nothing left?

The cultural conversation about fatherhood has evolved. We know that. Dads today are more involved, more emotionally available, more intentional than any previous generation by almost any measure. And yet the frameworks for how to do that – the actual relational skills, the internal work, the understanding of what kids need from their fathers specifically – hasn’t kept pace. We told dads to show up differently without giving them much of a map.

Like most humans in such a scenario, they improvise. They do their best. They love fiercely and somewhat blindly, in the way that people do when the stakes are highest and the guidance is thinnest. Most of them, when presented with the opportunity to be completely honest, would also tell you they're not sure they're getting it right.

That uncertainty isn't weakness. It's actually the most important thing about them. Because the dad who isn't sure he's getting it right is paying attention. He still asks questions. He's still in the question. And the dad who is still in the question is reachable.

This month, I encourage folks to contemplate that dad. Ponder his impact, his story. This is the moment when we reflect on the ways in which that dad shifts the calculus for the people who depend on him.

For all of his shortcomings and inadequacies, for all of the moments he might wish to do over, the truest measure of his value is the very fact that he has value at all. He is who he is, not because of his title or his biology, but because of his presence and his humanity.



Let’s see if we can’t understand this dad a little better.