“I Thought I’d Be the Fun Dad”

When I pictured fatherhood, I had dreams.
Dreams of being the fun dad.
The dad who plays games, says yes to everything, lets his kid dye their hair blue and skateboard off the garage roof “for the experience.”

I thought I’d be the guy his friends love. The one who’s chill, hilarious, and somehow always has Gatorade and good advice.
You know—Cool Dad.
The Disney-movie, high-fiving, inside-joke-having, emotionally available father-figure of legend.

Turns out I’m the dad who gets eye-rolls for breathing too loudly in the car.

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No one tells you that somewhere between “I love you, Daddy” and “Can you drop me off two blocks away?”
You go from superhero to walking cringe compilation.
It happens fast.
One minute you’re the center of their universe.
Next minute, you're asking them what “mid” means and they’re looking at you like you just licked a wall.

I’m a young dad. I know the memes. I know the slang (kinda). I play video games. I own Vans.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because once you misunderstand one TikTok reference or say “bussin” without legal clearance, it’s over.
You’re old. You’re out. You’ve aged out of the cool table and now you eat lunch alone with the other washed-up dads who used to be somebody.

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Here’s what they don’t tell you about trying to be the fun dad:
You can want to be cool.
You can try to be cool.
But eventually, you have to say things like:
“No, you’re not going to that house I’ve never heard of.”
“No, you can’t have Discord until you stop leaving wet towels on your bed.”
And—my personal favorite—
“I don’t care what your friends’ parents let them do, we’re not running a lawless TikTok compound.”

And just like that, you’ve betrayed the sacred trust.
You’ve become The Fun Police.
The Villain.
The guy who ruins lives by enforcing basic safety and bedtime.

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I still want to be the fun dad.
But now I know that sometimes being the fun dad means being the “not right now” dad.
The “I love you too much to let you be a little dumbass today” dad.
The “I’d rather be uncool and have you safe than be your buddy and lose you” dad.

And maybe—just maybe—one day he’ll realize that’s even cooler.

Until then, I’ll just be over here Googling slang in the bathroom and quietly weeping into a bourbon glass.

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“The Lost Cool Points”

Because nothing says ‘washed-up former fun dad’ like tequila and denial.

• 1½ oz blanco tequila

• ½ oz grapefruit juice

• ½ oz lime juice

• ½ oz simple syrup

• Splash of soda

• Rim with crushed Takis (optional, but on theme)

Shake everything but the soda with ice, pour over fresh ice, top with soda. Garnish with your dignity—or what’s left of it.