So. Today’s Father’s Day, huh? You want me to celebrate your being a father, Dad? No, and I will tell you why.
Remember winter, 10 years ago? You thought you were being such a great dad when you started that snowball fight with me. I did too—for the first few pebble-sized snowballs.
You still thought you were doing your job when you got way too into the game. I should’ve seen it coming. It’s happened before. When you were trying to teach me how to play soccer and ended up bowling me over to score a goal. When we were racing and I tripped and instead of stopping and picking me up like a good dad, you made sure to win before coming back and helping. I’m also sure you may have been chuckling but the giant splinter the size of a chopstick was distracting me.
So here you were, being all into the game again. I couldn’t tell the snowballs you were making were getting bigger and bigger. I was
10 5. My visual judgment of size hadn’t yet developed—the snowballs still looked pretty small in your hand! I should’ve left then, but we had just started playing!
It took you less than 5 minutes to score a face shot.
Who does that to their child?
I’m pretty sure that on that day, the snow was basically ice too.
Sobbing, I ran back into the house—you were still chuckling (seriously, have you ever stopped since I tripped?)—and you chased after me. Ok, that part, I have to give to you. It took you less time to chase after me than before (but since I technically forfeited that snowball fight, you had already won, so there was no point in dallying).
And, while I was examining the damage done in the bathroom mirror, you apologized.
Well, at least you apologized.
And I guess you even made me some hot chocolate afterwards.
Ok, you got me. You might not have been the worst dad. I’ll celebrate Father’s—
—Wait. You didn’t make me hot chocolate. That was just something my brain made up to make me feel better. Instead, you made fun of how red my face was and told me not to let it get in the way next time.
Nope. You’re not getting it. You’re not winning this time.
I’m winning this time, old man.
Unhappy Anti-Father’s Day.