good dad

Live loudly

Often I’m out with the girls — at Tractor Supply, Walmart, or wherever. After we’ve been through every single aisle in the store, picked up and put back every single item on the shelves, and sometimes even stomped our feet and whined because we can’t buy the seven-foot-tall metal chicken Tractor Supply sells for a thousand bucks — after all that, we’re often told by the cashier how cute of a family we are. How precious the girls are. How beautiful Emma’s red hair is. And then I’m told how good of a dad I am.

I always smile and nod and say thank you, make some small talk to move things along, but it always makes me laugh a little on the inside because the bar for being a “good dad” feels so low. From what I’ve seen, the only real requirement — at least in the eyes of strangers — is just existing in the same space as your kids.

And that second thought saddens me a bit. Because there’s more to being a good dad than just being there. We shouldn’t get credit for that — that should go without saying.

Maybe it’s a silly thing to make a fuss about, but it doesn’t sit well with me. If we as fathers have lowered the bar so far that we impress strangers simply by being seen with our children, then something’s gone wrong somewhere.

I don’t like to think of myself as a “good dad,” though if you asked me, I’d probably tell you I was. The truth is, I make plenty of mistakes — more than I’d like to admit. I lose patience when they’re tired and need more from me than I give. I see those moments and feel bad for myself for a second, then for them for longer, and I try to take that forward into the next situation where I’ll need to be better.

What is “good”? How do you be a good dad? Those are big questions, ones I’m sure someone somewhere has written better about than I ever could. But for me, the heart of it is simple: accepting my own fallibility, apologizing when I’m wrong, and being there and better for them the next time.

“A father’s words are not as loud as his life” — Unknown