“I don’t read books by men anymore.”
Her name was Debra, not the one of the Beck song, but a co-worker who was also an aspiring writer. She was applying the WNBA deal to her literary endeavors. That is: men were suffering from no lack of industry interest so women writers needed to be their own best audience and this is how she was going to do it.
Totally understandable and maybe precisely why, and how, you build a constituency.
But in thinking about this one thing starts to emerge from the shadows and it’s this: There’s no great father literature.
King Lear? Oh, you mean that heart-warming holiday favorite? The one where everyone dies? Jack Torrance in The Shining? Oh, the Dad with the Axe’s least loved tale? Ok ok…what about Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird, or Mr. Bennet from Pride and Prejudice? Eh…? Good Dads there, right? Well, given that they didn’t rape or murder anyone, or in any other way completely despoil the family’s future…? I think, yeah, sure.
So there’s our fatherly standard. You can comfortably claim success if you eschew rape, murder, or financial fecklessness!
And, Jesus, what a low bar that is. And, probably, a bar that low is that low for a reason. Rules versus exceptions and all that.
Ward stood alone and so it is that in 2024 he’s become an avatar for that which really doesn’t exist: a father who does no harm.
Of course I am not free of bias here. If downing fathers, justifiably or not, was a sport, I’d be an Olympian. If for no other reason than this piece on the death of my father, or even this, or how about this one about being pimped out by your father?
The paradox of fatherhood is that, as suggested, “all” you have to do to be a good one is not do the most horrific shit imaginable and you pass. Precisely because so many do not. That is, do horrible shit, or pass GO, or collect $200: fatherhood is a wash.
Therefore I have, subconsciously perhaps, elected to emulate the greatest fictional Dad on stage, screen or the page: Ward Cleaver. The Ward Cleaver of Leaving It to Beaver fame. He worked. Came home from work. Smoked a pipe. Sat in an easy chair. And managed to dispense bon mots of fatherly wisdom on a full range of topics none of which had anything to do with rape. Or even murder.
Yes, Ward floated the entire household, shouldering his burden without complaint, was patient with his family and, if you were a fan of the show you might have noted, almost totally devoid of any other male friends or other fathers. Ward stood alone and so it is that in 2024 he’s become an avatar for that which really doesn’t exist: a father who does no harm.
And the road to no harm is a minefield from which no father is safe. While I’m sure that the other fathers that my daughters have told me have told their daughters that they were fat, stupid, lazy, and ugly don’t think of themselves as shitty Dads, but they are. Even worse might be the fathers who don’t tell their daughters that and think that they’re good Dads because they are not bad Dads because doing nothing bad is not the same as doing something good.
But there are so many non-Dad things that lay the groundwork for Bad Dad’ing. If you cheat on your wife, the mother of your children, you might end up being a bad Dad in ways that a woman who cheats on her husband might never be when it comes to Bad Moms. It’s a weird paradox.
This is not a complaint. Just a note. A note very specifically connected to how in the hell is anybody supposed to feel OK on this Father-est of Father’s Days?
If you criticize your children’s friends, though all you know about their friends comes from your children, you might get laced for backing your children’s plays. If you spend money, and a lot of fatherhood seems to orbit around money, then you might hear that it’s not about the money. And anything other than a Ward Cleaver-esque nod and a smile might create grounds for a semi-justifiable take down. Of the fathers of record.
This is not a complaint. Just a note. A note very specifically connected to how in the hell is anybody supposed to feel OK on this Father-est of Father’s Days?
I mean good Dads are unicorns and we don’t have Unicorn’s Day.
So if the goal is some sort of creditable authenticity how can we make the day more so? I choose to do it by taking a tally of the fathers I know who came from horrible fathers but who managed by dint of will and maybe a small amount of luck, to be good fathers themselves. I live in marvel of cats like that. I also marvel at mothers who had horrible fathers who also manage to then be good mothers to sons, if they have them.
That’s where I start. I also do my level best to not spend the day exulting in the demise of bad fathers. This day is not, in total, about Bad Dads at all.
Then I move on to thinking how much I love my own children. This, in the face of whatever faults that they’ve found with my fathering. Managing to feel this way about other human beings is a net positive even if the feeling is not based on actual perceived accomplishment. Which is also a weird paradox.
And then finally, no Father’s Day celebration is complete for me without a categorical acknowledgement that, in the face of greater social disregard, casual and continual complaints, justifiable or not, and the stooge-ification of The Dad (any TV show since Ward Cleaver), the guy sitting in the car next to me at 7-11 convenience store, eating a convenience store cheeseburger or a baked good while staring off into the mid-distance is…well, seen.
We got you bro…in the interregnum between getting fucked over by your boss, who you choose to get fucked over by so you can keep the whole schmear solvent and afloat, we got you.
So it’s HAPPY FATHER’S DAY…!!! And don’t let anyone tell you any different. Also: don’t let anyone tell you to buy more than ONE of those Mega Millions lottery tickets. Statistically speaking it will absolutely ruin that cheeseburger if you buy more than one. Trust me on this.
Now go HOME…kiss your partner, hug your kids, don’t kill anybody, or even rape them, and let’s call it a WIN.
OK…So you have ordered the memoir A Walk Across Dirty Water and Straight Into Murderer's Row, from Amazon…Or the Bookshop.Org dealie: Here?
Might you consider giving it a review in either of those places?
I’ve been told it matters, somehow. So please: review away! Unless you think it sucks. Then, maybe, just keep that part to yourself. At last count there were 60 reviews…so yeah…GET AT IT!!! Every one helps. Or so they tell me.
ALSO…on the aforementioned tour we only have 15 books to sell. Sorry. If you’re at the shows and want a signed one. Get it QUICK.
Happy Belated Father's Day! Fun fact: Ward Cleaver was never actually ever filmed on set or aired on tv smoking a pipe. There was an episode called The Pipe where he was gifted a pipe from
"The Rutherfords", who are visiting Germany. It is a rare merrschaum pipe so Ward opts to leave it on display in his study. Of course Beaver's buddy Larry convinces him to put coffee grounds in the pipe and smoke it and they get sick. Beaver confesses to Ward he is ill from smoking. (His reasoning: Maybe it was forbidden because it’s really good! Nope.) "Punishment is forthcoming", Ward says, adding, “A lot of things we tell you are bad really are bad.” | It was ranked one of the top 3 episodes on some internet list at some point. So we are left to surmise he smokes pipes. But the show, wanting to keep its wholesome reputation for families chose to never show Ward actually smoking since the message was supposed to be that it is bad for you. Being named June, I got a lot of flack growing up about that show, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. My Dad smoked a pipe and had a big collection and all kinds of fancy tobaccos, so I tend to pay attention to pipe smokers in all areas of life. Anyway, there you have it. Nice piece, as always.
There’s always a third way: in our household we congratulated our mother every Father’s Day for finding a way to inspire us as a father might (mythologically?). She was gracious, while understanding we were implicitly capping on her taste in men, hoping we might find our particular man’s virtues as she once had. It was a pleasure to find and compliment his not-Ward-worthy moments, if only to underscore our support of her. We wouldn’t wait for a Sunday in June to do so. Life, as it turns out, is short. Gratitude for all the nuance in this piece.