Father’s Day comes with cards and crayon scribbles, sticky hugs and handprints on paper. Maybe a pancake shaped like something unrecognizable. You smile, you say thank you, and maybe—if you’re lucky—you get a few quiet minutes to yourself.
But the truth is, any man can be a dad on Father’s Day.
The trick is being one the rest of the year.
You earn the word “Dad” in the early mornings when a little voice calls for you before the sun’s even up. When you carry a squirming, yelling body out of the grocery store without saying a word. When you hold them through a meltdown you can’t fix, and still whisper, “I’ve got you.”
It’s in the small things. The third reading of the same book. The way you sit on the floor even when your knees ache. The way you let them help, even when it takes three times as long. Being a dad isn’t loud. It doesn’t show up in speeches or highlight reels. It’s not about who has the answers—it’s about who keeps showing up.
There are no trophies for the nights you walk the hallway, rocking them back to sleep. No medals for wiping tears, or for holding back your own when the day breaks you a little. There’s no applause for pouring the milk, picking up the blocks, cleaning up the fifth snack of the day.
But they notice.
They notice when you get down to their level. When you put your phone away. When you make their silly song your new favourite. When you hold their hand just a little longer. When you choose them—over work, over rest, over comfort.
Father’s Day is lovely. But it’s just a calendar square.
Real fatherhood is in the Monday mornings and the Thursday afternoons. It’s in the diaper bags and bathtime and bedtime battles. It’s the long game. The quiet game. The kind of game where the scoreboard is their future—and you may never fully see the win.
And maybe that’s the point.
Being called “Dad” isn’t a gift. It’s a daily challenge to be the kind of man your child already believes you are.
One day at a time.
Even on the days when no one says thank you.
Even on the days when you don’t feel like much of a man at all.
Because the job is simple, really:
Be someone they can run to.
And keep showing up until the day they don’t need to.
And even then, show up anyway.
The CJBuzz 