Previous issues of Dad Magazine can be found here.
Tags: dad magazine, dads, jaya saxena, matt lubchansky
Previous issues of Dad Magazine can be found here.
Tags: dad magazine, dads, jaya saxena, matt lubchansky
I live a thousand miles away in a different country from my parents and my dad STILL calls to update me on the status of What Are The Neighbours Doing.
Also my dad preaches the gospel of Well Did You Bring Something To Eat and A Bottle Of Water? He won’t go to the hardware store at the corner without a bottle of water in his car, in case of a thirst incident.
I went for a walk at the local botanical gardens on Sunday and my dad offered me a bottle of water before I left. It is a 2.3 mile path and it was 70 degrees outside.
That’s really my mom’s thing, particularly when I’m getting back on the plane to go home. “Do you need a sandwich? How about this bag of chips? Oh, I know, we can go to the fancy grocery store and get another sandwich. Also you like these granola bars, take them.”
You should see the epic sandwiches my brother gets when he flies back to his school. These things are the size of my head. He assures me he scarfs them down before he even goes through security.
(Sidebar: I also force food on my mother whenever I can, because she gets hypoglycemic and very hangry when she doesn’t eat. “Mom, please take this box of Clif snack size bars, no do not try and pay me for them, just take them and keep them near you at all times thanks.” Italian family. The cycle of food is eternal and unending.)
I am a We Need to Be At The Airport One to Two Hours Before Our Flight person and my partner’s family are We’re Leaving For the Airport in Five Minutes, Maybe Now Is When We Should Try to Pack a Three-Course Meal For You To Eat on the Plane.
These are incompatible Things to Be.
The question of, “When should we get to the airport?” is, I think, the most important/least talked-about point of compatibility between potential partners. I don’t think I could ever be truly happy with a, “Eh, we’ll just get there 5 minutes before take off!” sort of guy. Too much stress.
I think “When Should We Get to the Airport” should be an article in the May edition of Dad Magazine.
I think there’s too much Dad Consensus on the answer: two hours early, more if you’re flying international.
My husband’s stepfather is a It Only Takes 20 Minutes To Get To The Airport kind of guy, regardless of inclement weather, traffic, logic, etc. We have had several near misses due to this attitude.
My mom is a Puritan about food, and brags about how many meals she can make a doggie bag last after going to a restaurant. I sort of wish I had your mom.
My mom has cholesterol issues, sugar issues, and is generally pretty restricted about what she can eat, and does this thing where she thinks that because she had an apple earlier she will be totally fine for this trip to the mall, no I don’t need to eat something before we go, I had oatmeal four hours ago. And then two hours into the trip she Hulks out and I have to physically steer her into the food court (“I’ll be FINE I just want to go HOME now let’s return all the stuff I just bought and leave, everything is terrible arglbarglargl,” etc.). And then she eats and is fine!
All this is to say that if your mom turns into my mom, keep some granola bars handy.
My Mom gets hungry and cranky, and then is unable to process the fact that the exact type of restaurant she is picturing in her mind might not be available in whatever city we are visiting. So we search for hours while she grumps at us.
I also get choice paralysis while hungry and will wander around forever on my own, but if someone else is there I usually just tell them that I need to eat immediately and accept whatever they suggest.
Hmm, maybe not then. At least my mom is sort of quiet about her food issues, and never gets on my case for eating “too much.”
My mom doesn’t ever get on me for eating too much (perish the thought), she just has a restricted diet. This is not her own choice, and she tells me often to “eat burgers now, before they tell you that you can’t.” Picture my tiny mother shaking her fist in the general direction of her doctor’s office.
MOMS.
SUCH SANDWICHES. Car travel only, though, in my mom’s case.
My mother-in-law recently discovered Trader Joe’s. Now at every visit, we are borne aloft on waves of chocolate-covered marshmallows and pre-packaged salads.
My mom recently discovered Trader Joe’s too except there’s no TJ’s near her so every time she comes to visit she treats it like a tourist attraction.
We used to visit TJ like a tourist attraction, when going out of state, and now they have them in my state, so now it’s a local tourist attraction, but at least when I travel I can bypass TJ. Usually.
The tourist attraction of CHEAP WINE!
My grandma also gets pretty excited about them.
Oh my God, word. It’s like Oregon Trail at my house. Or like outfitting your characters in old-school D&D. “Here, honey, take these ten feet of rope and this caged songbird.”
45 minute drive between my house and my parents’ house: invariably I will be offered a bottle of water, a garage-temperature can of ginger ale, a Larabar, and a pack of trail mix.
Garage temperature! <3
Does the garage-temperature can come with an explanation of the variation in garage-temperature throughout the year? My parents store their wine in the garage, and are at any point prepared to talk about how it is temperate most of the year but there are a few days in the summer where it gets hot and is not ideal for storage.
My mom always offers to throw it in the fridge for a few minutes before I leave. Sorry, mom. Four minutes in the fridge will not make an appreciable difference.
Yeah, seriously, this is why you have to throw it in the FREEZER, duh.
My mother saw me off last time with a frozen steak, raw sweet potatoes and a bunch of kale because “they might not have organic there.” That’s how I know that one sure way to have your bag searched is to take a frozen steak through airport security.
I brought a turkey carcass back from Thanksgiving a couple years ago (“So that you can make a nice soup!”)… and I didn’t check a bag. It was, apparently, immediately recognizable to the x-ray techs, and all of the other TSA agents who he called over to look at the monitor and snicker.
My dad keeps a case of bottled water in his trunk, so there’s never any need to worry. (Yes I realize this is basically poison.)
My parents’ did too! it started because my mom couldn’t lift the Ozarka out herself but then it was just so convenient they kept one case in the garage and one in the trunk.
My dad keeps a cooler filled with bottled water, Gatorade, diet Pepsi, and root beer in glass bottles in the back of his truck. Once I found a SINGLE BOTTLE of Sam Adams Boston Lager, which he said he had in there “just in case”.
When I was home last weekend, my dad took my husband and me to the public market and basically attempted to buy us everything there. We compromised on yogurt, english muffins, and many, many pounds of fruit. You know, your basic road trip foodstuffs.
My father also subscribes to the Are You Sure You Have Enough Cash policy, wherein he believes that there is a not-insignificant chance of all debit and credit cards being rendered useless by some sort of massive blackout along major interstates.
God, I thought my dad was the only one. He has a horror of having no cash on him. “But but but what do you mean you have no cash? Here is $40.” Thanks, dad, but my debit card is fully active and, “NO SOMETHING COULD HAPPEN.” Sometimes I wonder if he means bribes.
Seriously, what is with this? Every time I see him he asks if I have that “emergency $20” hidden behind my drivers license in my wallet JUST IN CASE. In case of WHAT, dad? IN CASE OF WHAT?
If my wallet is stolen that cash is also gone? I just…Dad.
I used to keep the emergency $20 (initially given to me by a very dad-like ex-boyfriend) because cabs didn’t take credit/debit and the “just in case” was “just in case you’re out somewhere and need to get home via cab”. So that makes sense to me, but I usually don’t stay out later than the Metro runs.
“Slip a 20 to the gas station attendant; they’ll let you have the really good stuff. Just imagine the mileage per gallon.”
My dad has turned me into him on this, especially for long road trips. “But what if I run out of gas and the only station nearby is in the podunk town that doesn’t take cards!” I’ve just accepted it’s irrational.
Oh yeah, I’ve totally become “that person” when my husband and I go on trips. “But we’re only traveling for two hours, we don’t need extra cash, half a dozen apples, and a box of granola bars!” “Of course we do, what if something happens?!?!”
That would mean allowing your gas tank to drop below one-third full, which, as my Dad is fond of telling me, should not happen. Sorry, Dad, gas light’s been on for two days.
This happened to me once. It was in 2001, but still.
The very first time I met my ex’s parents, I had driven to their home an hour or so away from school. As I was saying my good byes, my ex’s father hugged me and handed me $20 for gas money (after chastising my then-boyfriend for not doing so himself).
It sounds kind of creepy, maybe, but I thought it was sweet. Plus, I was a poor college student, so $20 for gas was incredibly helpful.
My husband’s granddad gave me $40 once because he was impressed with something I said. Later, he told my mother-in-law I was a “brilliant woman” and asked if I’d been married before. (I was 22.)
My father, on the other hand subscribes to the I’m Not Sure I Have Enough Cash policy, and therefore never willingly gives cash to family members. Bank transfers, on the other hand, are Not Cash and therefore OK.
“Dad, can I borrow $10 to grab a coffee?”
Dad checks wallet, only sees $120. “Hmm”
You need to have enough cash in case you need to take a cab in an emergency, according to my Dad. You know, those cabs without card machines that still exist in Dad-land.
My Dad is all about taking cabs all the time. He doesn’t like that I live in a city and try to walk a lot. He ALWAYS gives me like $100 dollars when I leave home and he says “just, take a cab home from the airport, ok?” “Dad my plane will land at 11am on a Tuesday which we all know is the safest day.” “I really think you should take a cab.”
Oh my God, my dad too. “Oh, well I took the bus to the train station, and I’m getting back in the afternoon, so…” “Yeah, but that was coming here! You’ll be tired! Take a cab home.”
My parents, visiting a few weeks ago, called a cab for me every time I left. Because apparently Copley is completely unsafe at 9 PM on a Tuesday.
YES. My dad thinks it is insane that I would consider going anywhere without at least $100 in cash. When I say I only use plastic money he then gripes about all the “kids” at work (people in their mid-20s like myself) who only have credit cards and cause trouble when they all go out to eat together on work trips and don’t have cash to pay the bill. To that I say it is the 21st century and we have the technology to give everyone separate checks and so we should do that.
I was at a big superbowl party thrown by a very wealthy acquaintance with a lot of dad-types and told one I couldn’t participate in the pool because I didn’t have any cash on me. He seemed shocked and told me I should have at least $100 in my wallet at all times – I was like, dude, sometimes I don’t even have $100 in my bank account (regularly). He laughed really hard because he thought I was kidding. D:
“ROAD BUCKS” – Dad gets offended if I stop at the ATM myself.
So your dad has read The Handmaid’s Tale!
When I was flying back from Michigan my dad got in line with me to pay for my checked bag. I explained that I had already paid for it, but was like “Got cash? I’ll take it.” I got $30 instead of $25 because he had no change; it was perfect.
This is me. I am the dad. I have built a reputation of always having a water bottle. My last two plane rides I brought homemade dumplings and other snacks. Sometimes I will bring like 10 walnuts in a ziploc when I go somewhere, just in case I get hungry.
Me, too!
I never leave the house or work without a freshly filled bottle of water or two (depending on where I’m going or what I expect to be doing), and if I’m going on any kind of trip, including shopping, I have at least a peanut butter sandwich or granola bar, too. There’ve been too many times I’ve been stuck in traffic for seemingly ages, or else had to wait at my destination and couldn’t pop out for a snack. There’s nothing like having to wait around when you’re hungry or thirsty, and it’s expensive to buy fast food or whatever when you have perfectly good snack foods at home..
Besides, I drink like 80oz of water on days I leave the house, if not more. My tachycardia means I get dehydrated more easily than I ought to. I HAVE to bring water with me, and then a snack so that I don’t feel like water’s just sloshing around in my stomach all day.
To be fair, *I* won’t go to the store without a bottle of water in my car. I could get thirsty! What if I start coughing?
LET’S TALK ABOUT DAD MUGS. My dad has a mug that he has had since approximately the dawn of time, it has a fish on it and that is all. Apparently it is a Good Mug.
My dad’s One True Mug has a goose on it and it is literally the only mug I remember him ever using in the last 28 years. (To be fair, it does seem like there might be a genetic component, because I get kind of sulky when my Mug With The Grapes On It is in the dishwasher and I have to use a different one.)
My mom is the one with the mugs. She even has a whole set of mugs just for Christmas. If I get caught using a non-Christmas mug at her house in December, she gets upset.
My mom, too! She has a careful system for test-holding mugs before she buys, and prefers the pottery ones with the little clay thumbpad on the top of the handle.
For whatever reason, my parents also still have our old sippy cups from 30 years ago still in their glass cabinet. Kind of tangential, but also weird.
Yes! Seasonal mugs! What started as just a collection of Christmas mugs when we were children has morphed into mugs for every holiday. They’re taken out at least a month in advance and put away the exact day after the holiday. Except for her St. Patrick’s ones, they may remain out all year.
My mom has a whole set of Christmas dishes, including mugs. Whenever you try to eat anything in December she will come ask “oh, you’re not using a Christmas plate?”
My mom just has a mass of mugs that come from…somewhere. The mug cabinet is overstuffed. I’m turning into my mother because I too have a mug collection.
Got a mug yesterday for my birthday and my family and I had a long conversation about my upcoming marriage and the Mug Collection we have started.
My parents’ Christmas mugs are Kliban cats with pizzas that say “Pizza on Earth.” And there are polar bear mugs too. Meanwhile I have an Anne Taintor one with “the holidays, she believed, were no time for restraint.”
My mom is the mug person too. She broke her One True Mug and mourned it actively for a good 3 years until my dad and I simultaneously found a replacement on eBay and almost got into a bidding war with one another.
My dad’s One True Mug has Tigger on it.
My dad has a polo shirt with the Tasmanian Devil playing golf embroidered on it. When he wears it my eyes well up with tears from the sheer adorableness of it all.
My dad did not like hot beverages but he did have an Iced Tea Cup. It was diner-style brown plastic (so clearly, super-classy) and we only had the one so it had to be washed everyday. I want to say it was bought in the late 70s, early 80s, so he drank from that for like 20 years (so you know, suuuuper safe and totally not a possible carcinogen)
My dad is a singer, and his favorite mug says “TUNE IT OR DIE”
Ahaha everyone in the house growing up had a One True Mug. (we had tons of other ones, but they just sat in the cabinet)
My childhood home is overrun with mugs from various cities; there are probably 30 that are just on “decorative display” in the kitchen alone. But of course, my mom and dad just fight over who gets to use one specific mug that has the “It” factor. They fought over it so much that my mom finally called the ranch in Idaho where they bought it and asked them to send another one.
MUGS! My dad insists on having a GIANT mug of milky hot tea with him at all times. He has gone through probably 3-4 mugs in my lifetime. He lost one when he left it on top of the car and drove off; another when the dog knocked it off the table. They are all stained brown inside from tea. Mind you, he NEVER drinks water. Only tea. Weirdo!
Okay, after reading this comment I’m mildly concerned that our dads are actually the same man, and I’m not the only child I’ve always thought I was.
If you make a paste of baking soda and water and smudge it around in the mug that may lift those brown stains out. I do it to my mugs, but those are young tea stains.
My dad’s has a cartoon beatnik on it with a thought bubble of “one more espresso then it’s time to hit the bongos.” DADS!
My parents have a mug, the “bear mug” that we’ve had since I was a little kid. I was at their house last month having tea and took a good look at it for the first time and these bears are clearly having an all-out orgy:
The best part is that I googled “bear orgy mug” and the artist, based in Japan obviously, has an entire series of these. My favorite are the penguins.
My girlfriend’s family has a series of rabbits-boinking mugs! And then we saw them at another person’s house! So my guess is, these were A Thing in, oh, let’s say the 70s. That sounds about right.
Oh my god
We used to have this mug! *hushed tone of dawning realization* But where is it now?
MY FRIEND MADDIE’S MOM HAS THAT MUG AND WHEN WE WERE IN HIGH SCHOOL I WOULD ALWAYS CALL IT “SEXY BEAR MUG” BUT WITH A GERMAN ACCENT FOR REASONS THAT ARE NOW LOST TO TIME SO IT SOUNDED MORE LIKE “SEXEEY BEAH MUHG”
You guys if our parents were so brazen in the 70s as to have orgies depicted on their stoneware, on their stoneware, can you even imagine what went on after we were tucked in our beds?
My dad had a mug, a large solid heavy handsome trinket given by a son-in-law, which he praised highly but only used when said son-in-law was visiting. Dad, always a skinny guy, spent the last decades of his life getting skinnier and weaker from emphysema; it pains me to say that lifting a heavy mug to drink from it could eat up so much of his strength and energy, but it could, it could.
Because I like coffee AND LOTS OF IT YES, I used this big fat mug whenever I stayed with my parents, and Dad (who preferred a tall, slim, more delicate mug) never failed to smile broadly and praise the mug, telling me with great pleasure that it was a gift from [son-in-law] and that it was fine for me to use it.
I know it is, Dad. And thank you.
This comment transported a large number of onions into my house by some mysterious means. Your dad sounds like a very sweet man.
My dad doesn’t drink hot beverages, but uses mugs for his water. We work together, and he gets grumpy when I use ‘his’ mugs for my tea/coffee, so I’ve learned to leave the light-hued ones for him (he can check they have no brown stains that way.)
But the odd thing is, he always puts 3-4 raisins in his water mug. For flavor. Flavor of wwwwwww, I suppose.
RAISINS. WUT.
:-/
You have no idea how much sense this makes to me. I have exactly this kind of dad. It is a Very Particular Type of Dad. *whispers* I thought I was alone.
My dad had this mug:
He thought it was the most fucking hilarious thing in the world, due to his deep hatred of cats.
My dad had this mug too! And then I snagged it when my parents were downsizing their kitchen for an international move and my mother was taking advantage of the opportunity to get rid of all the mismatched coffee mugs from the late 1980s that my father had carefully accumulated.
I thought it was screamingly funny as a kid, but only because I knew that I was better at spelling than the dog.
My parents had (have?) this one:
Oh parents and their Far Side mugs.
I still refer to it as CAT FUD (rhymes with mud) whenever I tell my kids to feed the felines!
I refer to american “cheese” as “processed pasteurized american cheeze fud”.
My dad was a math teacher before he retired, and his mug is the “Mr. Osborne, may I be excused? My brain is full.” Far Side cartoon. Dads + The Far Side = OTP
We have 2 entirely separate shelves of mugs – top shelf for my tall coffee-drinking dad, mid-shelf for my short tea-drinking mom, and GOD FORBID the mugs mix. No mugscegenation in our household, no sirree, we don’t truck with that. It’s easy to tell them apart, though, because my dad’s mugs either have goofy caricatures of philosophers, fencing jokes, or geese, and my mom’s have floral patterns or art prints.
Pop Jinx doesn’t really have one dedicated mug, but a few years ago he got me a mug (that lives at my parents’ house) with the name of the town they live in on it, and the town’s logo. “This can be your special mug when you’re here, kid!”
My pops’ mug stayed with me when my parents moved across the ocean (I think it was a mistake)(he also has another one) but it was the periodic table in Spanish.
It broke during this most recent move and I almost cried*. I am hoping I can get another one.
*I cried.
Coming out of lurking just to discuss DAD MUGS. My Dad’s favorite movie is The Wizard of Oz. When I was little my sister and I bought him a joke mug with Dorothy that says “lions and tigers and bears, oh my.” It is a joke mug because it is comically large- maybe 3-4 times the size of a normal mug. Needless to say, he has used it for over 20 years now. He doesn’t drink tea or coffee (or weird diet drinks) anymore, so now he just makes a gigantic mug of HOT WATER and drinks it on the back porch for hours.
My dad has a morning mug and an evening mug for his after-dinner coffee. Woe betide whoever takes the opaque mug with the little paws on it for their after-dinner coffee.
My dad gave me a mug that says “Geek” on it and then it broke and he glued it back together for me and then he bought me another one. I don’t use them anymore but I think I still have both in my kitchen. My dad does his best and I love him.
My mom is the one with the weird mug fascination; she can only drink coffee out of Bennington Potters trigger mugs, preferably chipped ones from the ’70s found in garage sales. Unfortunately, she has passed this trait on to me, and I become irrationally upset if my roommates ever try to use my trigger mugs.
My dad just has a mug with a train on it that disappears when hot liquids are poured into the mug, only to reveal a bunch of other trains. He is obsessed with it.
Itineraries! Everyone in my family gets one whenever my parents go on a trip. Me, my brother, my dad’s sisters…just in case, you know.
“What’s your flight number? I want to keep an eye on FlyteTracker.”:
My dad found an app where he can track and identify all the flights that go over our house. PLUS FlyteTracker. He loves flights. Dads!
WHAT APP IS THIS? My dad would love it.
Stand by! Texting My Dad.
It’s called Flight Tracker 24, apparently!
My dad would totally do this except FlyteTracker would require that he upgrade his phone to something that didn’t cost $27 – and that INCLUDED all the minutes he could EVER NEED. We won’t talk about the frustrated cursing every time he tries to push the tiny buttons with his giganto fingers.
He needs a dialing wand?
Not OP, but since the day my dad upgrades from his free flip phone with the Ohio State ringtone is the day the earth crashes into the sun, the image of my dad using a dialing wand just caused these incredible sounds to come out of my mouth, nose, possibly my ears.
I’m the OP and Iaughed and laughed at the idea of a dialing wand for Pi Dad.
He recently switched to a “touchscreen phone, it’s just like your iPhone!” except that it cost $27 and is utter, utter shit. We did, however, manage to get his ringtone set to the Dr Who theme, so he still likes it.
It’s not a true family vacation itinerary unless it’s got the day broken out by hour in military time. To be fair, this is a grandpa thing…
A couple of months ago I was home, and asked my Dad what time my flight left. Because obviously I don’t remember that shit. AND MY DAD DID NOT KNOW.
IT’S LIKE HE DOESN’T CARE ANYMORE. I MIGHT AS WELL BE DAD-LESS
Are you sure your dad hasn’t been replaced by a pod person?
I really think you should consider this.
My brother and his friends were planning a road trip across the US, and his friends wanted to visit seven cities, take back roads, and do this all within a specific time frame (but also be spontaneous). My brother responded by setting up spreadsheets and doing a bunch of Google Maps magic, and sent everyone pdf maps and detailed itineraries.
My dad has never been so proud in his life.
One time, and one time only, this mode of Dadliness came in handy for me, in that I was studying abroad in Prague and had my wallet stolen. This was pre-wifi and cell phones everywhere, so I genuinely needed to be able to call one person who had all relevant info (ID #s, bank info, etc) in the same place. Enter Dad on a gilded chariot pulled by dragons!
That last sentence almost made me do a spittake. Your dad is awesome.
WHY WOULD ANYONE NOT WANT AN ITINERARY ANYHOW? At this time last year, I went on a trip generously arranged by my mother, but it was a bit maddening how she kept all our information – flight numbers and times, hotel names, shuttle info – close to the vest.
It took a surprising amount of persuasion to convince her I needed a copy of the itinerary for myself and one to give my husband, just so he’d have some goddamned idea where I went. She was afraid it would “confuse things.” Wuh?
I mean, yes, it’s great that I know when flights are and stuff, but also I don’t entirely need to know all the trips my dad’s taking if I’m not involved?
BUT SOMEONE HAS TO KNOW WHERE YOU ARRRRRRRRRRE WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENS?
I am for sure my father’s daughter; when my mother went on a two-week trip without telling anyone local where she’d gone or indeed that she was going, I had to actually bite my tongue to prevent myself from asking upon her return why she hadn’t left an itinerary with someone – anyone, really.
In a world where people answer their cell phones or email, this isn’t as pressing as it used to be, but Mom doesn’t do either of those, so we were legit worried when she dropped off the map for a coupla weeks.
Drugs. The neighbours are DEFINITELY doing drugs over there. Are you kids doing drugs? You know how to make a proper bong at least? No, don’t tell your mother I said you could build a bong, jesus.
Ha! I had to explain to my Ma what 4/20 was, because I was complaining about all the suburban stoners taking over my neighborhood. “Well, I just think that’s very silly. I’m not even sure I’d know what weed was, if I smelled it” “Kinda like a skunk, Ma, but dirtier?” “Hmm. Well, mind you don’t go getting high just being outside.”
Can we talk DAD NEWS? My dad just started a new job, at the age of 62, because his old bosses were taking advantage of his loyalty to the company and weren’t treating him right. So, he quit before they could fire him and started this new thing instead.
I am so proud of him! And he keeps geeking out about his new boss’s interest in used farm equipment, which is super cute.
Go your dad! That is fantastic, good for him! His geeking out about used farm equipment is delightful, and I hope his new job is totally excellent for him. My dad just started out on his own for vaguely similar reasons, and he’s doing great so far! YAY FOR DADS.
Hooray for your dad! I’m glad he has found someone to share his passion for farm machinery.
Of course, in true dad fashion, he didn’t say anything about it at all; my mom had to tell me instead. I managed to trap him into talking about it on the drive home from Easter dinner, a DAD NEWS success!
Yay Dad! Good luck to him!
Dad news! My Dad recently got neck surgery and told me to google this video of the surgery John Hopkins had.
Via Text:
Dad:”Go to this page to watch the surgery”
Me: “I am eating lunch”
Dad: “Perfect, you have time to watch then”
Me: “Dad, I don’t want to watch surgery while I am eating”
Dad:”IT’S ANIMATED!!!!!!”
Me: “You didn’t tell me that!”
Later:
Dad: “Here is a non-animated version!”
Still later: “Which one did you watch?!”
Oh, dads!
(As an aside, as part of my job, sometimes I have to watch videos of medical procedures. I learned right-quick that that is a task that needed to wait until after lunch!)
My dad has a short story accepted in a British science fiction quarterly, and the reviews on very obscure SF blogs are glowing, to say the least.
That’s awesome! Congrats to your dad!
My dad looooved an itinerary (so do I. it’s genetic). He died years ago and one of my most treasured dad-artifacts is the notebook he used to plan our road trip to college. It’s adorably detailed with almost every worse case scenario/bathroom break from Texas to Michigan factored in. And then there’s a whole section of notes he took at parents’ orientation. So so wonderful.
This is amazing Dad behaviour and also a wonderful story. So nice you have that.
That is such awesome Dad behavior. I’m glad you have it too!
Beautiful!
That is so sweet and lovely.
Oh god, that’s amazing.
Related reading: http://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/are-you-normco…
I totally realize that “normcore” means “normal core” but I can’t help but think, every time, that it’s Norm Abram (of This Old House, natch) cosplay.
THAT I can get behind.
Have you heard about the Jets, though?
Mark “Buttfumble” Sanchez. Jesus.
It never gets old!
That gif is a year and a half old and it /still/ makes me chortle every single time I see it. HE RUNS RIGHT INTO HIS BUTT.
Poor Jets fans. I hope you all catch a break soon, you folks deserve it.
My dad LOVES the Jets but every year I will say something to him about how I was at a bar and saw the Jets on TV and he goes, “Yeah, the Jets suck.”
Oh man, I’d forgotten they were playing the Patriots that day. Nice job, Steve Gregory.
My husband is the Jets fan in our family, and I still enjoy teasing him about it.
My stepdad’s neighbors are always building, planting, or installing things too close to the property line. Fences, bushes, in-ground sprinkler heads…their villainy knows no bounds.
My father likes to mock our next-door neighbors, who are both college professors, for hiring college students to do their lawn care. He calls it “Rake-For-Your-A Season.”
Really hoping to see a feature on tractors in the upcoming summer issue.
The summer issue is the ideal time for tractor discussions; it is known.
Lawn care devices of all stripes, really.
My dad makes up tasks to do on his John Deere. “I’ll just rig up this rain bucket and hose on a pallet and drive it around to water the fruit trees!” It’s the best.
(Really the best is the joy he gets from driving grandkids around in the tractor bucket. But the watering system is 2nd-best.)
Oh my god my dad will stop hauling lumber off a hill if his grandaughter asks “Gwampie can I ride in the twactor?” ALL WORK MUST STOP NOW LITTLE GIRL NEEDS TWACTOR RIDE.
My dad used to haul us around on a sled attached to his John Deere. Those were excellent times.
There’s a commercial on here in Holland involving a lawn tractor which is like, your lawns are like three feet long, no one has a tractor, stop that.
There’s a commercial here in the U.S. that boasts about the tractor’s superior turning capability and about how it can go 7.5 MPH, a WHOLE MILE more per hour than the John Deere. And that is cultural difference in a nutshell.
OH god they can ask me for material because my dad has 3 antique tractors and two for actual use. He takes the antique tractors on Tractor Cruises, which if you can imagine is a bunch of Dads driving tractors down a highway in a parade that lasts all day from one town to the next.
I anxiously await the annual special edition of DADS Magazine: YOUR MOTHER. All stories about your mom, all from your dad’s point of view.
-“$200 On Plants. YOUR MOTHER.”
-“She Trained That Dog, Not Me: YOUR MOTHER.”
-“I Know We Said We’d Be There 15 Minutes Ago But We’re Just Leaving: YOUR MOTHER.”
“Look at YOUR MOTHER, doesn’t she look beautiful today?”*
*Said every time I am there, in complete and total sincerity, every time. <3
Me: Did you have fun?
My Dad: Of course I did, I was with your mother.
Don’t forget CALL YOUR MOTHER. Speaking of that,this blog post seems apt to add right here…
Goddammit, I am absolutely not crying, nope.
I wrote it as a funny tribute to my dad and his various reasons for calling, but somehow it got serious as I started to miss him more and more.
Gosh, I wish he were here to call me and give me his opinion on Ukraine, the Supreme Court and Donald Sterling. *sniff*
When will Dad magazine address the very timely and important topic of “when’s the last time you changed your AC filter?”
“How to tell when your weather-stripping needs to be replaced: the answer is NOW.”
“Why don’t you own an caulk gun/decent tape measure/socket wrench: the “I’ll just bring up my toolbox” chronicles.”
“Bring your computer over so I can back it up and update that software. And that hard drive I gave you. What do you mean which hard drive?”
Ah see for me the technology relationship is inverted. I had to explain to my dad that the browser was not “the internet” and that by uninstalling IE and putting in Chrome I was not cutting off access to his Yahoo mail.
I am teaching my dad how to use gmail (TEACHING GMAIL) and it is a very painful process for both of us. All of my sympathy for you!
I live in utter fear of the day when I’m my dad’s tech support (he used to work for Microsoft in the 90s; I am now a software developer.) When that happens, I know I will cry.
“‘How’s your little car?’ and other ways to ask if your grown daughter is taking care of herself”
Aw, dads.
Shorts: Easter to Thanksgiving…. AND BEYOND
Sidebar: These Great Pants From REI That Are Both Pants And Shorts: Have You Picked Up A Pair Yet?
Buy Two, They’re On Sale.
Another sidebar:
Perfect Accessories for Your Shorts!
– Crocs
– cell phone holster
– other color Crocs
Including: Who needs shoes? 315 amazing locations you can wear your house slippers!
“Pulling up your socks while wearing shorts: how high is too high?”
Turns out, the article’s just a joke… all dads know that there is no limit to how high you should pull up your socks while wearing shorts.
My dad’s favorite shorts are too short for anyone in the family to be willing to be seen in public with him anymore. I think my mom might have thrown them out when he wasn’t looking. I do not want to be there when she is found out.
Look right there – those kids are HOTBOXING on our street! (calls police, reports them, takes dog for a walk and gives offending car that doesn’t belong on his street the stink eye)
I wish you all could have been there the day that Mom & Dad’s new neighbor hired a team of earth-moving machines. It was operatic.
I don’t think my dad is going to be interested in this month’s issue as there is absolutely no coverage on grass seed.
Dad and I installed a new motion sensor light this weekend, half for the deer that take over his garden and half to antagonize the idiot neighbor kids that somehow think that playing Monopoly on a trampoline is a good idea and then wonder why nobody can keep their pieces on the board while they jump around.
I dunno, trampoline Monopoly actually sounds pretty fun.
My dad keeps an eye on their neighbor because she has been getting crazier over the years. Recently he found her burying a raccoon that was not quite dead, so she was filling the hole with water to drown it.
WHAT
D:
Exactly, that was my parents’ reaction.
That is my face RIGHT NOW
Um your parents live next to a witch. And not the good kind.
Mmm once my grandma poisoned a nest of baby skunks with antifreeze 🙁 She watched them lap it up from a bowl and then die in her front yard.
My dad was never huge on itineraries, but boy does that man love his street atlas. It held a hallowed place in the third drawer down in the hutch in the living room so that it could be accessed at a moment’s notice. I’m pretty sure he took it to Florida with him when he moved even though he has GPS now.
I borrowed my dad’s car a week ago–SO MANY MAPS, ALL OF THE MAPS (Dad, why)
We cannot depend on technology on these road trips, what if Something Happens?
You know what happens in the middle of New Mexico when there’s no cell service, much less data, and your phone barfs on its navigation? You have no idea where you are, that’s what happens. Team Road Atlas all the way now.
The High Holy Thomas Brothers Guide. Dad, you have an iPhone. IT HAS FREE GPS.
My future father in law is the master of foisting snacks upon children leaving the house. His love language is fruit salad in tupperware. I am so excited to get such a Classic Dad as my second Dad.
I had dinner at my parents’ last night and the hot neighbourhood news was that “Barry next door is selling!”My dad is really excited because there’ll be a whole new set of people to spy on soon.
How are we this far into spring without any headlines on lawn maintenance? My Dad is looking forward to the Consumer Reports style breakdown of the best manicure scissors to use on each variety of grass.
What happens when you share Dad Magazine with A Dad: he writes a novel in response. https://24.media.tumblr.com/4e77e022c07a9bdebd6a3…
I don’t think a Dad has ever used exclamation points (moms meanwhile always uses five in a row + random unrelated emojii).
Wow, this is a serious truth.
Last texts from my dad (my part snipped out, spanning from November 27 – April 13):
“Gracias”
“Glad to hear you made it”
“Yay. I am proud of you”
“Time is on your side”
“Good”
This includes all responses to an extremely long series of texst about my underperforming portfolio and general investment strategy (“Time is on your side”). He is my accountant.
Mom’s last three texts, spanning the last 40 minutes, include about 400 words, four emoji (cat crying, wine glass, snowflake, leaf), and two separate instances of “?!”.
DAD.
Transition lenses! When I got my new glasses I found out that my dad had snuck transition lenses on the prescription as a “treat,” because he loves his so much. I just think they make me look like a major dork.
More articles inspired by the recent goings-on of my dad:
“Woodpile talk: piling strategies and how to get the damn snakes to stop living there”
“Tips for sending texts to your kids (try capitalizing every word!)”
“‘Gawd!’: How driving over roads filled with potholes caused one man to use the same half-whispered exclamation 5 million times in one summer”
I shared this Dad Magazine with my dad solely for the neighbor spying thing. And I didn’t even have to point it out for him to notice that bit and chuckle!
Of course, just yesterday he was muttering about how the neighbors next door have been gone for a while and maybe they’ve turned their house into a DRUG HOUSE (I think he was kidding? Mostly?) with grass that really needs to be mown, so clearly he recognises his obsession on some level.
The neighbours…you all would love to hear my dad’s monologues about the URBAN CHICKENS next door (always in all caps.) it’s legal in their city to have backyard chickens and my dad haaaaaaaaates the neighbours for it. He never gets tired of discussing the URBAN CHICKENS.
where – where is it *illegal* to keep chickens??
(note: from now on I am calling my chickens urban chickens, they will be so proud)
I’ve never heard of farm animals being allowed in city limits! The bylaw in my parents’ city is pretty recent, actually. We live in Alberta.
But the mess and the noise is a personal affront to my dad’s perfect yard. He refers to the neighbours derisively as the Clampetts and then goes to sit by his “Garage Mahal” and his driving net and his pressure washer.
Garage Mahal is an *excellent* term.
(I just looked it up, and the laws in Australia are: maximum 2 hens, no roosters. So that would cut down on the noise a lot.)
(Also Fiona Chatwin was maybe the only entirely likeable character from those books, good internet name!)
The HOA in my parents’ neighborhood got one of their neighbor’s garages taken down because it looked too much like a barn. I guess agriculture has replaced crackheads as the new sign a neighborhood’s going down, or something.
That's awesome! Congrats to your dad!
My dad swings between "why pay full price for that book, I got it for $6 at Costco?" and "If you don't buy all your books at the local legendary independent bookstore, it will go out of business and be ALL YOUR FAULT."
As a teenager, every time I would get sick my parents asked if I had taken any drugs. My answer was always no, to which they would scoff, "Well, that's what we told our parents too."