An Ode to You, Dear Dad! You listen as I list, loud and clear, the sacrifices I’ve had to make with the arrival of our son and our second child on the way. I’m constantly reminding you of the efforts I make, the permanent marks on my body, and what I’ve had to put aside for our family. Today, I also have to congratulate you! I’m not the only one who’s changed my life for the kids!
For starters, you have to turn up the TV volume so you can follow your hockey games—and sometimes you even miss one or two. The little one is crying, and I’m dictating an endless list of chores to you… You even miss the game-winning goal sometimes. Luckily, this year your Canadiens didn’t have a long season, so deep down, you won’t have missed everything!
Plus, you have to cut back on the staggering number of hours you spend in front of your video game console. You’re no longer the best among your friends at NHL, and that, my man, I know is quite a sacrifice for you.
Ever since we’ve had a son, you can’t go to the bathroom in peace anymore—three times a day for 30 minutes. I’m chatting to you through the door about this weekend’s plans, and your son is playing with the toilet paper, banging his head on the sink, and bringing you his book so you’ll read him a story. You can’t keep up with Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter anymore.
Now that you’re sharing your life with a little one, you have to say goodbye to sleeping in. You get a full night’s sleep, of course, but you no longer have the luxury of getting up at 10 a.m. on Sunday mornings. I’m right there, tapping my foot, trying to get you up at 7 a.m., because we’re ready to go out for breakfast.
Evenings at the Bell Centre or with friends, hours spent at the gym, and your three deck hockey teams are now a thing of the past. Now you go to the pool on Saturday mornings, to the zoo on weekends, and to the parks on weeknights.
Honestly, you work so hard with all your overtime to provide for the family. You put up with my explosive mix of bipolar hormones. You play with your son every day without ever getting bored. You’ve traded nights out with friends for spaghetti nights, bubble baths, and toy cars. When I see you playing mini-hockey with our 20-month-old—cheering him on, laughing, and explaining the game to him—I know that deep down, you’re not making any sacrifices at all. You’re simply the wonderful dad our family needs, and you don’t even have to try to be that way.