My second “official” Father’s Day is here — although I’m counting this as my third, since my sister-in-law sent me a Father’s Day card when my wife was two months pregnant (thanks, Erika, I haven’t forgotten that gesture). 

My 18-month-old Austin is the other love of my life. He is sharp as a tack, blessed with the ship-launching looks of Greek mythology, filled with heart-melting smiles and giggles and has a way of saying “Daddy” or “Da-doo” with an enthusiasm that would make me lay down my life for this child in the blink of an eye.  I loved that kid en utero and love him more now that I know him; he’s perfect.

So what does Father’s Day mean to me?  Frankly, I’m uncomfortable with the attention.  There are “good” fathers and “bad” fathers, and, yes, I like to think or hope that I’m a “good” father.  But I’m not doing anything more than any dad should do: I keep him healthy, well-fed, happy. I read a few good books to him every day, teach him that toilet water is not for playing in (which invariably seems to happen moments after a bath), explain to him that putting a toad in your mouth is a bad idea, especially when mom and dad just stocked up on Goldfish and bananas. I introduce him to names of his body parts but explain to him when pointing out daddy’s “belly button," that it’s really unnecessary to attempt poking his fingers all the way through to daddy’s spleen. 

Being a dad is probably comparable to the Army — if the commercial is true:  “toughest job you’ll ever love."  Yep, it's hard to stay up until 10 o’clock, even on the weekends.  I never knew what a Wiggle was, now I can’t stop singing those damn songs (even in Spanish … "Ensalada, de fruta fresco.” C'mon, you know it, too!). I have developed a new (or renewed) appreciation for hot dogs, PB & J and animal crackers. I read the same books 12,345 times each (We all know “Elmo’s Play Date” by heart) — which is great; I’m glad he loves to read just like mommy and daddy. 

Fatherhood is about the simple things, and I try to impart a few of the nuggets I’ve gathered in 36+ years.  Father’s Day really isn’t about me, it’s about my family; an amazing human being that I’m married to and this little miracle we created together. Here comes a cliché, but there is nothing better than seeing his or her face light up when you walk in the door at the end of the day. That’s it. Period. Cut and print. The parental raison d’être right there. If you don’t feel that one deep down, well then, it’s time to see your cardiothoracic surgeon and see if you can get on the transplant waiting list, STAT . . . 

Father’s Day is about doing what I’m supposed to do and loving every minute of it in the process, mind you. For you, Austin, daddy loves you. I’ve told you every day and you’ll keep hearing it every day, so get used to it, even when you don’t want the supplemental kisses.  I’ll campaign to change this day to “Da-doo Day” or “*insert animal noise* Day” or whatever you like. I’ll do anything for you, just name it. Thank you for being you. You’re perfect.