Happy Sunday, dads.
Andrew here. Somewhere along the way, I think we dads decided fatherhood needed to become another thing we had to absolutely crush.
Like, apparently, raising tiny humans wasn’t enough pressure already.
Now we’ve got to be present, patient, emotionally available, financially responsible, in decent shape, teaching life lessons, building memories, and somehow remembering which kid needs to be at which practice at 6:15… Yeah, it’s a lot.
Bills, schedules, school, practices, discipline, work, meals, bedtime, doctor appointments, and about a thousand little things somehow become Dad’s problem before the day is over.
Then you add all the pressure we put on ourselves. Am I present enough? Am I patient enough? Am I teaching them enough? Am I building the right habits? Am I screwing anything up?
And before you know it, being a dad starts feeling like one long performance review. But here’s something I think we forget: You’re allowed to enjoy this.
You’re allowed to laugh at the silly joke instead of turning it into a teachable moment. You’re allowed to play the game, eat the ice cream, stay up a little later, make the ridiculous voice, and actually have fun with your kids.
Not every moment needs to improve them. Not every interaction needs to move the family forward. Sometimes being a good dad looks like enjoying the people you worked so hard to raise.
Because these years aren’t only something to get through successfully. They’re your life too.
And one day, when the schedules are quieter, and the house needs less from you, I don’t think you’ll wish you spent more time worrying about whether you were doing fatherhood perfectly.
You’ll probably wish you’d enjoyed a few more ordinary days while you had them. So this week, give yourself permission to have some fun with your kids. No lesson. No agenda. Just enjoy them.
Let’s get into it.
And if you’re new here, welcome to The Dadder Dispatch. You picked a good weekend to show up.
When we usually think of legacy, we think of something big. The lessons you taught. The values you passed down. The example you set. But sometimes legacy is much smaller than that. A sentence someone used to say. A note you kept. A card you found years later. Something ordinary at the time that somehow stayed with you. These two challenges are about paying attention to the little things that last.
Tonight, find one old letter, card, note, email, or text from someone who mattered to you. A parent. A mentor. An old friend. Someone you miss. Read it again. Notice what comes back. Then ask yourself one question: Is there someone in my life right now who deserves something like this from me? You don’t need to write a novel. Sometimes a few honest sentences are enough to become something somebody keeps for years. Legacy is often just the note we haven’t sent yet.
Today, tell your kid one thing your parent or grandparent used to say that stayed with you. “My mom always said…” “My grandpa used to tell me…” Then tell them why you still remember it. Maybe it was funny. Maybe it annoyed you at the time. Maybe you didn’t understand it until you got older. That’s the cool thing about the little sayings families carry. One person says it. Another person remembers it. And one day, your kid might repeat it to theirs.
The DadderUp app drops a fresh Dad Flex daily, built for the kind of dad who doesn’t wait for the new year to level up. Download it and start tomorrow.
From my conversation with Dr. Kari Adamsons, a professor, researcher, and nationally recognized expert on father involvement, co-parenting, and how dads influence their kids across every stage of life.
Dr. Kari said something during our conversation that I think every dad needs to hear: Kids don’t schedule quality time.
You can’t decide that Thursday from 6:00 to 7:30 is when they’re going to open up, ask the big question, tell you the funny story, or give you one of those moments you remember forever.
A lot of it happens in the middle of regular life. In the truck on the way to school. While you’re making dinner. During some ridiculous conversation you never expected to matter.
Dr. Kari put it simply: those little moments are what make up the big moments. And I think that takes some pressure off. You don’t have to manufacture an incredible childhood every weekend.
You don’t need every memory to involve a vacation, an elaborate plan, or some perfectly executed Dad experience. Sometimes you just need to be there enough to catch what’s already happening.
Laugh with them. Listen to the story. Play the stupid game. Enjoy the five minutes that showed up without an invitation. Because the moments that eventually mean the most might be the ones nobody planned in the first place.
“I feel like I’m always thinking about whether I’m doing enough as a dad. How do I stop overthinking fatherhood long enough to actually enjoy it?”
— Mike, dad of two, DadderUp community
I think the first thing is realizing that the fact you’re even asking this probably means you care a lot.
The problem is when caring turns into constantly grading yourself. Was I patient enough today? Did I spend enough time with them? Did I handle that right? Should I have done more?
At some point, you can become so focused on being a good dad that you’re barely present for the part where you actually get to be Dad.
You don’t need to evaluate every interaction. Some nights, play the game. Laugh at the ridiculous thing they said. Get the ice cream. Sit on the couch and watch something stupid together.
There will always be something you can improve. That’s fatherhood.
But your kids also deserve a dad who enjoys being around them. And you deserve to enjoy them too.
So keep doing the work. Keep trying to get better. Just don’t turn every day with your kids into a test you have to pass.
There were definitely stages with my girls where I remember thinking, Are we seriously doing this again?
Cocomelon. Frozen for what felt like the 7,432nd time. The same bedtime routine. The same ridiculous game. The same thing they wanted Dad to do every single night.
And then one day, they just stopped asking. That’s the part nobody really warns you about. The thing that drives you crazy for six months can somehow become the thing you miss a few years later.
My girls are seven and nine now, and the routines have changed. At dinner, we have this stupid little game called “Look to Your Left,” where you have to guess something about the person sitting next to you.
At bedtime, one gets a piggyback ride to her room and makes me record her doing the Ronaldo “Siu.” The other still asks me to sing these ridiculous songs I made up for her when she was little.
None of this was planned. None of it is some masterclass in fatherhood. It’s just us. And honestly, those are some of my favorite parts of being their dad.
Because I already know how this works. Eventually the games change. The bedtime routines disappear. Dad gets a little more cringe. They need you differently.
So yes, work on being a better father. Be intentional. Show up. Learn from the days you screw it up.
But don’t get so busy trying to crush fatherhood that you forget to enjoy the weird little version of it you have right now. Because one day, you might really miss the thing you’re currently hoping they grow out of.
What’s one thing you want to enjoy more before this season of fatherhood changes?
Dr. Kari Adamsons joins me to break down what the research actually says about dads, presence, and connection, including why simply being around isn’t the same as being engaged and why so much of fatherhood is built in the small, everyday moments with your kids.
I break down why being a dad is something worth celebrating every day, not just on Father’s Day, and share some of the simple traditions, routines, conversations, and ridiculous little moments with my girls that have made fatherhood something I don’t just want to get better at, but actually enjoy while I’m in it.
We’ll keep showing up with the emails. All we ask? Send this to a dad who’s been so focused on doing fatherhood right that he forgot he’s allowed to enjoy it too. The routines, the silly jokes, the bedtime chaos, the random conversations. One day, those may be the things he misses most.
