Dads sometimes put up with a lot of hogwash from the people around them just for being dads. Certain small quirks should be off limits to any and all commentary from the peanut gallery. Dads should have certain rights, starting with…
The right to say righty tighty, lefty loosey anytime without getting any lip.
Dads have no choice in the matter. If you’re his kid and you’re holding a screwdriver or wrench, he has to say, “Remember: righty tighty, lefty loosey.” If you’re holding any other tool, he’s going to take it and show you how to use it regardless of your experience because “Ahhh, you don’t know the right way.”
It’s as unstoppable as the gag reflex you experience when you accidentally walk in on dad in the bathroom. So why the eye roll and response of “I knowwwwaaa!” He can’t help it for Pete’s sake! Let dad have this one. You’re 27 years old. Grow up.
The right to crazy hair without the smart aleck comments.
I’m not talking about the hair on top of his head. Dad likes the ‘do’ he had in middle school, but because he can’t feather his scant amount of hair anymore, he’s sticking with the buzzcut, thank you. And never say ‘man-bun’ to him unless you want to see forehead veins and a violent nosebleed.
I’m talking about a crazy hair. You know the one jail-breaking hair sprouting three inches above the rest of his eyebrow. Does he even look in the mirror? Or the one coming from his ear, glowing with a halo around it, your eyes wandering to it constantly as he talks about your future and you don’t hear him anymore. Yeah, that one.
Or maybe a nose hair.
Not a bundle of hair as if a troll doll is sliding out of there head first. Just one, long, inexplicably unnoticed nose hair swaying in the breeze with every exhale. C’mon! He has to feel that on his lip! Dads should get a pass on this. Ok, maybe a pair of tweezers somehow show up on his bathroom counter.
The right to car breath without any of your sass, mister.
A lot of dads like a good beer brat, some smoke cigars and some like to wash down a nice fish and Doritos breakfast with a hot cup o’joe. And it seems soon after, you have to ride in a car somewhere with dad. Something died in his mouth a long time ago and he’s never been chattier.
Everyone has bad breath occasionally, and maybe it’s just the sheer volume of trips you’ve taken with dad over the years that’s caused you to notice, but something about your dad’s breath in a car makes you claw at your face like Joffrey at his wedding feast. All the gum and mints you give him in his Christmas stocking each year seem to have no effect.
This one is a tough sell, I know. But he hauled your ungrateful ass around for years (maybe this was a motivator to get your own car, seems like a dad move) so cut him some slack. You think you smelled so great when he picked you up after sport/dance/band/weed smoking?
The right to claim you mumbled without any of your guff.
Your dad can hear. He can. He just can’t always hear. Mostly he has trouble hearing in restaurants, when watching movies or when you’re speaking to him. Sound seems to give him the most trouble.
He seems to hear that duck that is always running under the couch just fine though. But really you shouldn’t mumble so much. Why you single out your dad to mumble to is beyond me. It just seems rude. Your denials just make him angry. He can hear EVERYONE else he knows just fine except you, your brothers, sisters, mom, his mumbling co-workers and those whispery sales clerks.
Yeah, it’s annoying that dad says ‘what?’ so much and so angrily, but he put up with all your crying, whining and stupid demands like ‘don’t throw me in, I can’t swim!’ How are you supposed to learn to swim, smart guy? And you could have fun with this by actually mumbling and driving him crazy. But no more denials, just let him argghahsey.
The right to wear only whitey tighties in his own castle without any of your flapdoodle.
Dads run a few degrees hotter than average people. It’s one of the many superpowers they claim, like the ability to sense someone left the damn light on upstairs again.
And after a hard day of pointing out how no one has any common sense anymore, dads like to get comfortable, enjoy the fruits of their labor and the fruits of their looms. Did you die a thousand deaths when your 13-year-old teenage girl self brought your girlfriends over and walked in on dad in the living room wearing only bright white undies and Cheetos crumbs?
Of course you did.
Ok, calm down, it’s over now. I think you have to ask yourself this: Did you buy this house? Do you pay the bills here? Of course not. When you’re home, you should just accept there could, at anytime, be a large-bellied, belching, almost-naked primate on the loose. But consider that this small piece of cloth is a compromise from dads. It could be worse. It could be much, much worse.