Things Dads Hate

I’m officially the best dad ever. I know this because I received a mug on Father’s Day boldly asserting this fact. I bought it for myself, but let’s not quibble over minor details.

As the official best dad ever I think I’m qualified to pontificate on some things fathers don’t like. And by fathers I mean all fathers. And by dislike I mean hate. 

Some of these things are obvious and even non-fathers could identify them. For instance, leaving lights on in a room with no one in it. This must get near the very soul of what being a father is all about for the universal disapproval it receives. Is it because it’s wasteful? Irresponsible? Easy to complain about? I don’t know, but whatever the reason it is despised by all fathers (and rightfully so!).

Here’s another thing that gets stuck in Dad’s craw: Paying for parking. Especially at a sporting event. It’s always a surprise, both that you have to pay to park at all, and also that the price has gone up x dollars from the last time you were there. Maybe fathers have a deep sense of justice and being charged to park at the venue feels like paying twice to gain entry. Who am I kidding? There’s no maybe about it, of course that’s what it is. And all of dadkind is right to despise it. 

The whole daylight savings time thing and the accompanying havoc it wreaks on very young children’s sleep schedules, and therefore domestic life in general, is too despicable to even discuss in this column. One of these days, DST, one of these days…

And then there are those things that all dads hate, but have collectively decided to pretend we don’t hate. I’m pulling back the curtain, fathers, so get ready! 

The tradition of smores when camping. What twisted, sadistic uncle (you know it had to be a bachelor uncle) was out with his brother and his nephews in the woods and said, “Hey, you know what those sleeping bags in your tent need? To be covered in melted chocolate, sticky marshmallow cream, graham cracker crumbs, and ants.”

Basically kids eating smores is the perfect ant bait. And they either eat too many and feel sick (great fun in a tent) or drop half their smore on the ground for you to step on and track into your tent later. This doesn’t even touch on the whole hand impaling, torched marshmallow launching, extreme fire hazard of having kids attempting to roast smores. And fathers pretend to like this.  

Then there’s text messaging. If it were up to dads, there would be no text messaging. That’s right, I said it. If you long for the days of the frontier, or the days of conversations that occurred in-person and were tethered to the reality of human co-experience, or a time when you could think for at least five minutes without being interrupted by a “ding” emanating from your phone then do I have bad news for you. This is not that time. The incessant notifications and alerts and manufactured minutia of everyday life that interjects itself throughout the day is the worst. It’s convenient so it’s common, but it’s superficial and the interruptions to domestic life from work alerts, shared memes, spam, and pictures of friends or colleagues having a good time mean dads have good reason to hate text messaging.  Too harsh? Think of it this way. How many times has one text message stolen you from a moment with your kids?

Whether you agree or not, I know what I’m talking about here. And I have the mug to prove it.