I have no clue why this didn’t post on Father’s day as I set it to. I am marginally annoyed by that. Better late than never, I suppose…

I’ve been writing for this blog for some time now (according to my last post anyway) so I know when it’s time for a certain daddy blogger to write about “the day.” The problem with Father’s Day though is that it’s not, well, Mother’s Day. It’s not all pink and and flowery and springy. It’s just kind of there. Get dad a polo shirt. Get dad a beer cooler. Get dad a remote control caddy. Get dad a tie. On “the day” I actually don’t think I ever wanted anything. I’m a guy. I have vacation photos from multiple trysts to far off and not so far off lands that look like one long vacation because I have on the same clothes. I wore a shirt to work this week that I wore on a trip 10 years ago. Sure I may need a new polo or two but I don’t want one. You know what I want? Respect. Put some R-E-S-P-E-C-T in a plain brown box and wrap it in a manly black or grey bow.

I am a nurturer by practice, not because it is intrinsically in me to be one. So show some love to a guy who tries to be a good nurturer though his instincts say otherwise. I am drawn by instinct to the mission of providing and protecting. It’s in my marrow. I want to make sure that the direct deposits keep coming in from my work and that my family is safe in their beds at night. The role of nurturer, something that I’ve been honing for seven years, is and will always be a work in progress because I am hardwired for my male role. A role that many of our fathers failed at, thusly leaving them feeling that they have failed the family. It’s sad how so many of us wallow in the stagnant pond of daddy issues because of dad’s self-conceived shortcomings brought to bear on the family.

No I don’t get home in time for every meal as I would like, but that doesn’t mean that every move I make during a day is