There’s a version of my husband I love most, and it only really comes out when he’s being a dad.
It’s not the version who is checking the time or trying to remember where he put his keys for the third time in a day. It’s the version who, the second he’s with our child, suddenly has a full voice acting career he never mentioned on his résumé. Especially when Cars is on. He doesn’t just do Lightning McQueen or Mater. He becomes the entire cast, accents included, like Pixar personally cast him and forgot to pay him.
And I love him for it more than I can properly explain.
I love the way he responds to “Watch this!” like it is a live performance he has been personally invited to attend, even if he was just in the middle of doing something completely unrelated. There is no hesitation. Just immediate presence. Like whatever mattered a second ago can wait.
Before he became a dad, I don’t think I understood how much parenting is just being constantly interrupted and still choosing to show up fully anyway. You sit down, you get up. You start something, you abandon it halfway through because someone urgently needs a snack, or help, or to show you something that absolutely cannot wait.
And somehow, he doesn’t just tolerate that rhythm. He thrives in it.
“I want to be tall” was said once, casually, by our child. And now my husband walks through the house with a kid on his shoulders like it is a perfectly normal form of transportation. Not for a few minutes. Not as a quick joke. It becomes the whole afternoon if that’s what is requested. Like this is simply what fathers do now.
There is no negotiation with him when something becomes fun. Fun becomes law.
And then there is our nightly routine, which I secretly love just as much as the kids do. It starts with the “silly ABCs,” where everything is going smoothly until he stops mid-alphabet and inserts a completely random word like, “A, B, C, D, E, F…pickles!” like this is a totally normal educational strategy and not a shared inside joke that has taken on a life of its own.
Then comes the Pledge of Allegiance, where we have our hands over our hearts, very serious and very official, like we are opening a meeting we all somehow know the agenda for. And finally, “quiet mouse,” which is our attempt at stillness and silence that lasts approximately four seconds before someone remembers something extremely important they need to whisper, giggle, or announce dramatically.
It shouldn’t work. But it does.
What I love most is that none of it feels forced. He doesn’t seem to be performing “fun dad.” He just is him, fully present, fully in it, fully willing to be silly in ways most adults quietly retire from.
And yes, there are still moments where he’s distracted, or juggling a million thoughts at once, or walking into a room and immediately forgetting why he’s there. But even then, when it matters, he shows up in the middle of it all.
Not perfectly. Not predictably. But completely.
And I think that’s what I love most.
Not just that he’s a dad. But that he’s that dad. The one who says yes to the shoulders, commits to the voices, turns “watch this” into the most important thing in the world, and somehow makes ordinary life feel like something worth playing inside.
And I get to watch it.
by Kimberly Keys 
by Jenny Rapson 
by Vicki Bahr 
