Dad Of The Year

And The Award Goes To…

Thomas here. I wrote this a little more than a month ago and it didn’t really have a place. I was probably going to scrap it but I really enjoyed writing it. What better day than today with it being Father’s Day.

Every year, amidst the chaos and comedy of parenting, I find myself secretly striving to win the coveted and completely made up, "Dad of the Year" award. It’s like the Oscars for fathers, complete with imaginary acceptance speeches and heartfelt thanks to the guys in my running group for emotional support.

The best part? There’s no panel of judges— every dad has the opportunity to win. It’s not about perfection. It’s about showing up, staying present, and giving your best— even when you’re winging it.

After about my 10th award self nomination, I did what any writer would do and I decided to sit down and imagine, if a Dad of the Year award actually existed. Who would win? How would they win? and is this role more of a lead role or a supporting role?

Much like the Best Supporting Actor category at any awards show, a dad’s role isn’t to steal the spotlight. Our job is to help illuminate the star— our child. They’re the lead, discovering the plot of their life. We’re on the edge of the frame, or off camera even, offering guidance, not scripts.

Preparation and thoughtfulness matter, like rehearsing your lines before a big scene, but trying to over-direct life usually backfires. The best moments aren’t choreographed. They happen in the in-between: sprawled on the floor building legos together or dancing and laughing to whatever whacky song they asked Alexa to play. These are the scenes kids remember, the ones that build trust and connection without needing a speech.

Dads tend to specialize in the things moms sometimes veto: roughhousing, measured risk-taking, and spontaneous adventures aka mess making. These aren't just fun— they're developmental. They teach kids resilience, courage, and that life is meant to be experienced, not bubble-wrapped.

Of course, every good character has flaws. I’ve dropped more F-bombs than I’d like to admit and I don’t always apply their sunscreen. But those slip-ups don’t define me. What does is the love, the protection, the consistent presence, and the willingness to own my mistakes and keep showing up.

One of my greatest joys is spotting that unmistakable spark in each of my kids. That mix of creativity, chaos, and individuality that makes them who they are. My job isn’t to shape that spark into something “useful.” It’s to protect it, so it doesn’t get dulled by pressure or dimmed by expectation.

I also want to raise self-reliant kids. Yes, they’ll grow up with certain privileges. But privilege should never excuse a lack of effort. It should be fuel— a springboard, not a shortcut.

So while my acceptance speech may only ever play in my head, the real reward is right in front of me: watching my kids step into their own story, knowing I had a role in helping them rehearse for life.

And in this version of the awards? Every dad who shows up with love and intention walks away a winner.