I’m pretty simple. I’m a dad. I like to cook. This is Sunday, so I’m gonna cook. Time to cook over an open pit of charcoal and fire. Man. Meat. Fire. (Thank you advertising agency, whomever you are).
But this isn’t the only day I cook. I cook on April 7th. December 16th. January 12th. July 20th. In other words, I don’t need a special day to cook. I just do. It’s not a testament to machismo for me to burn meat over coals. Or a moment to brag about how prolific I may or may not be when faced with heat, food and time. I cook because I’m hungry. I cook because my wife isn’t feeling up to it. I cook because the television show had an interesting recipe I just had to try. I cook because my mom taught me how. I cook because it’s my responsibility tonight. I cook because I feel like it.
I do not cook because it’s Father’s Day. I need no special day to cook. I need no special day created by opportunistic salesmen to “honor” fathers to cook. I cook because I feel pleasure seeing others mouths water when I draw the meat from the grill and they are no longer famished.
My point is this. I need no special occasion to cook because any day I cook is a good day to feed my loved ones. I need no special day to be a father because I am one every day. But despite that I am grateful for the day because it’s a day where men, like me, have chosen to be more than fathers but have chosen to instead be dads. It’s a day where we as dads who do not seek to be recognized for doing what we should do anyhow, are recognized. It’s a day where on any other day, we wouldn’t dream of thumping our chests and shouting how good it is to be fathers. Where others see men as more than pay checks on legs. Sagging pant wearing hooligans. Career driven warriors. Gun toting hunters. It’s a day where we can be the ever present models that boys should see daily, but often, sadly, do not.
We men are on this day seen as what we actually are every day.
Ok. Back to the grill.