It rolls around every June, wedged somewhere between graduation season and “oh crap, we forgot about summer camp.” Father’s Day — the one day a year where dads are celebrated with a $12 coffee mug that screams “#1 Dad,” a polo shirt two sizes too big, and a tie they’ll never wear, mostly because nobody’s worn a tie since 2013.
And yet, we smile. We wear the shirt. We sip out of the mug. We say thank you like we just got handed the keys to a Corvette instead of a wrenchshaped keychain. Why? Because dads are built that way.
We’re the same guys who say “It’s fine” when the truck won’t start, the dog’s throwing up grass, and there’s a wasp nest forming in the garage. We carry the chaos quietly. We laugh it off, shake it off, and keep on moving — because that’s the model we were shown, and heaven forbid we ever admit we’re tired, worried, or falling apart.
Truth is, nobody really gives a rip about men’s mental health. Not on greeting cards, not in commercials. You don’t see a Father’s Day campaign that says, “Check on Dad — he might be drowning in silence.” You see steak sales and power tools. As if a ribeye and a socket set can fix the wear and tear on a man’s soul.
And yet — there are these moments.
A few years back, my daughter was 16. She’d heard the jokes, seen the eye-rolls about bad Father’s Day gifts, and this time she was determined to get it right. She was so proud, so confident. I opened the wrapping paper and there it was: 500 of the Best Dad Jokes Ever Written.
She beamed. “It’s perfect, right?”
Perfect? Absolutely. I hugged her, smiled, laughed. But in my head, I was thinking — who the hell does she think writes those jokes? We do. Dads. That’s our material! That book was basically my autobiography, ghostwritten by the internet.
Still, I read every page. Because Father’s Day isn’t about the gifts. It’s about the gesture — the fleeting, precious moment where your kid looks at you like maybe you actually are the world’s greatest dad. Even if just for a second.
But not every dad is a dad by biology. Some of the best ones stepped into the role without ever being asked.
There are stepdads who inherit a family already in progress and choose to love them like they were there from day one. There are grandfathers who quietly become second fathers — the ones who show up to ballgames, fix bike chains, and remind you to sit up straight. There are foster dads who welcome kids into the middle of their hardest chapters, knowing full well they might not stay. And there are mentors — coaches, teachers, neighbors — who lead by example and never ask for credit.
My grandfather was one of those men. An elementary school principal for 27 years, and a coach and teacher before that, he was a stepdad to my mom and my uncle — but you’d never have known there was a ‘step’ involved. After he retired, we couldn’t walk through a grocery store without some grown man coming up and saying, “Mr. Underwood, you probably don’t remember me…” And he always did. He’d light up. He’d say, “Stephen! How are you?” even if Stephen had been his student 15 years ago.
He remembered them because they mattered. And they remembered him because he cared.
So, Father’s Day isn’t just for the guys who share your last name. It’s for the ones who share their time, their wisdom, their patience — and their presence.
And look, we get it — tradition is tradition. But it’s funny, isn’t it? On Mother’s Day, we’re all out here making brunch reservations and trying not to burn the toast. But on Father’s Day? Dads end up sweating behind a grill, flipping burgers, packing the cooler, driving the boat, and dragging the wet towels home. Our celebration somehow got scheduled as a work detail. And we’re fine with it — mostly. Just don’t confuse the smoke in our eyes with tears. Or do.
So, give us the socks. The mugs. The joke books. We’ll take them. Happily. Just don’t forget that beneath the grill-master exterior, there’s a man who might be carrying more than he lets on.
And maybe this year, give him something even better: a real conversation. A hug that lingers. A “Hey, are you doing okay?”
Because sometimes, the guy who says everything’s fine... really isn’t.
