They got it wrong. 
 
This whole Father’s Day thing.
 
Phone calls. FaceTimes. Cards with appreciative scrawl tucked into the bungled breakfasts in bed, followed by backyard barbeques honoring the hard beauty of being a father.
 
For what?
 
Being a father is easy. 
 
Right place, right time, right body part. 
 
After that, you don’t have to do a damn thing. You can keep your weekend drinking ritual with your buddies. If you have a job, you can keep working. If you don’t, you can keep playing Mortal Kombat. 
 
You can keep your body. 
 
Just do your thing.
 
And nine months later, you’re a father.
 
You still don’t have to do a damn thing. You can keep your weekend drinking ritual with your buddies. If you have a job, you can keep working. If you don’t, you can keep playing Mortal Kombat. 
 
You can keep your body. 
 
Same as before.
 
They got it wrong.
 
Being a father is easy. 
 
I’m celebrating Dad’s Day today.
 
Because being a dad?
 
That’s something else entirely.