MEMBER SUBMITTED DAD STORIES

We heat with wood out here, so me and my son chop every fall. He’s only 9 but swings that lil hatchet like he’s earnin his keep.

We don’t got fancy courts out here, just a cracked driveway and one good rim. Me and my kid shoot hoops every night til dark.

Between gas, gear, and snacks, travel ball might bankrupt me. But watchin my boy hit that first homer? Worth every cent.

Took three weekends and a few scraped knees, but when she finally rode that bike without me holdin the seat, I lost it.

Worked a double on Christmas Eve so my kids could have a good one. Came home after midnight, presents all wrapped, wife asleep on the couch.

Told my son to ‘sip slow.’ He squeezed it instead. Juice everywhere. He laughed so hard I couldn’t even be mad.

Planned to fix the shed, got rained out. My daughter said, ‘let’s dance instead.’ So we did. Shed still broke.

Foldin clothes with my teen daughter and she just starts tellin me everything about school, friends, crushes. Crazy how chores open up conversations.

My dad taught me how to fix up old cars. Now I got my 6-year-old handin me wrenches. He don’t know what they are yet, but one day he will.

Got a photo of my boy taped inside my helmet. Every time I suit up, I look at it and tell myself why I’m doin this. 72 days til I’m home.

You ain’t lived til you’ve tried sortin baby socks for twins. I swear they multiply in the dryer.

One car seat, a minivan that smells like Goldfish, and a heart learnin to do both jobs. Some nights are heavy, some nights I nail it.

Her boy didn’t call me ‘dad’ for two years. We went campin, just us. Built a fire, burned half the marshmallows. Next mornin he said, ‘Thanks, Dad.’

Had my first kid at 41. Friends got teens, I got teething. But I’m more patient now than I ever was in my 20s.

Kids fight over everything. Toys, snacks, who got the blue cup. I just sip my coffee and let ‘em work it out.

Laundry, lunches, Lego landmines. Used to wear a suit, now I wear baby spit-up. Hardest job I ever had.

My daughter’s 15 now. Talks less, rolls her eyes more. But when she’s gettin ready for school and I see her smilin in the mirror, I know we’re still good.

Only quiet I get is when I walk the dog after bedtime. Sometimes I just stand in the driveway lookin at the stars, thinkin if I’m doin this dad thing right.

My youngest is wearin pajamas my oldest wore eight years ago. Same stains, same knee holes. Somehow that makes me proud.

We don’t live together anymore, but every Sunday I sit on her couch watchin cartoons with our boy. We make it work. He’s what matters.

My old man’s toolbox sits in my garage. Rusty sockets, cracked handle, still use it every time I fix somethin. Feels like he’s helpin.

Supposed to be a simple volcano project. Ended up buildin a mountain range with plumbing parts and food colorin. Judges were impressed. Kitchen still ain’t recovered.

No GPS, just snacks, bad jokes, and a cooler full of juice boxes. We got lost twice and somehow had the best weekend ever.

Our girl came 6 weeks early. I sat in that NICU every night hummin lullabies through a mask. She’s home now, chunky and loud.

Pandemic year. No ceremony, no crowd. We honked horns and waved signs from the truck. My son smiled like the world still made sense.