By David Himmel

Routine is good. It creates a home base for comfort, safety, normalcy in the wake of insanity. Part of our routine as parents is that I do bath and bedtime. And within those father-son moments, there are smaller routines. When the bath is done, we brush our teeth then put on pajamas then rock and read a few books. Then the light goes off, Harry climbs onto me and we hug and rock as we recount the day’s adventures. Then to his bed to be tucked in, sung to, and kissed good night. He’s in a twin bed now—the crib is in the hands of some stranger from Craigslist—so leaning over to kiss him and tell him goodnight has become much easier.

Last night, as I leaned in to kiss his forehead and tell him, “Night, night, boy, I love you. Have sweet dreams. I’ll see you in the morning.” he wrapped his arm around my neck and pulled me in close. Tight. 

“I love you.” he said.

With his hand, he started stroking my beard the way I stroke the hair on his head. I sat there for a few minutes because he hadn’t loosened his hold on me, and I didn’t want to ever break from it. But at some point, he needed to get to sleep and the dog’s barking told me our dinner had just been delivered. A few more moments passed and I committed to pulling away. Harry wasn’t having it.

“Do you want me to lie in bed with you?”

“Yes,” he said, then smiled. I pulled my legs onto his bed. “Close eyes, Daddy.”

“Okay, Harry.”

✶

Maybe I’m an outlier. I probably am. I get bothered by the “Let’s hear it for the dads who…” memes that people post on social media. (I also get bothered by complaining about what gets posted on social media, but I’m a complicated person, so let’s just agree to look past this hypocritical irony, please.) I’m so bothered by them that I couldn’t bring myself to search for one and post it alongside this essay to show you an example. Besides, you know what I’m talking about. I’m sure you’ve seen them. You’ve maybe even posted one or two yourself.

Yeah, they have a sweet intent, and that’s great. But they come across like it’s such a heavy lift for a dad to be around to do parental stuff. “Let’s hear it for the dads who never miss a game,” or “Let’s hear it for the dads who are always there to help.” And then there will be a photo of a man bathing the kid or reading to the kid or, I don’t know… doing the dishes. Doing something so mundane and, well, basic. 

I recognize that not every dad is the same. Family dynamics can make dad giving the kid a bath harder in some homes than it is in ours. But I believe that most involved dads—if not all—make up for missing bath time in other ways. I don’t know what they are, I’m not those dads. The point is, I don’t feel it’s necessary to celebrate—or “hear it for”—the dads who do dad things. It’s celebrating the absolute minimum. It’s that old Chris Rock joke:

“[A person] will brag about something they’re supposed to do. Like, ‘I take care of my kids.’ You’re supposed to you dumb motherfucker!”

Please don’t mistake this for me saying I don’t want or need to be appreciated. Christ, God, and Satan all agree on one thing: I need to feel appreciated in my home. Not celebrated with confetti and gifts and blowjobs every day, just enough to remind me I’m not a useless pile of shit dressed up like an aging recovering Jew. This need is not unique to me. It’s a human need. We all need to feel appreciated to some degree. Call that appreciation love or respect, if you want. Dress it up any way you like, we all need it.

What I’m saying is, don’t applaud dads for being parents. And if you think it’s applaud worthy when a dad reads to his kids then you have a sickeningly antiquated and sexist view of what it means to be a dad.

I’ll take Father’s Day. Sure. It was always fun to have a special day that was all about my dad when I was growing up. It made a great reason to gather the whole family—cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles—for a day of playing, grilling, and whatever else-ing. And I do the same thing today. I can even use it as an opportunity to go work on the boat guilt-free. (Once Harry is old enough, I hope he’ll join me on the boat, which will hopefully then not feel like sailing = abandoning my family. Sigh…)

On Father’s Day, I want what I bet most of the dads I know out there want: time to themselves equal to time with their kids. Really, that’s the dream, isn’t it? I bet it’s the dream of moms, too. And that’s what Mother’s Day is for.

What I’m trying to say is, happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there. If you show up, do your parenting thing as best you can, then you deserve all the appreciation you are showered with today. But don’t let it get to your head. Appreciation means nothing if you get it for every little routine thing you do. You’re not a puppy in obedience school. Are you? No. You’re not. You’re a dad.

I’ll take whatever appreciation I can get today. But I’ll forego any extra today if it ensures I can feel appreciated—loved—a little bit every day of the year. Mostly I do. And when I don’t, I tell myself I can maybe do better, that my kid is a toddler and toddlers can be jerks, and that my wife is married to me and marriage is a surefire way to forget you appreciate a person (we’re all guilty of it).

But really, all I want for Father’s Day is to lie in bed all day with my son hugging me so tight, stroking my beard, and telling me he loves me. But that’ll never happen. Because Harry is two years old and can’t lie in bed like that for an entire day. What, are you insane!? Maybe I’ll bring him to the boat with me. Or better yet, get my alone time and hurry back as fast as I can to be with my son.

Is that worthy of a meme? Of course not. Because it has nothing to do with me. It’s all about my son wanting to be with me. Really, this day—Father’s Day—is all about him.