Every Father’s Day starts the same way in our house, and that’s exactly the point.
We lace up our shoes and walk to the neighborhood reservoir — no rush, no agenda, just time. By the time we get back, someone’s always hungry, which is convenient, because lunch is non-negotiable: hot dogs and vegetarian gnocchi skewers on the grill, followed by more s’mores than anyone will admit to eating. Then the lawn chairs come out for the cornhole tournament, which becomes loud and competitive (my daughter’s boyfriends included!). We have 2 cornhole setups now, brackets and all – it’s serious!
None of it is fancy. None of it costs much. And somehow it’s become the tradition my kids ask about every June before I’ve even brought it up.
That’s the thing about Father’s Day that took me a while to understand: it’s not really about the day. It’s about the small, repeatable rituals that tell a child this is who we are, and this is what we do together.
The Jokes Dads Can’t Help Themselves From Telling
Ask any kid to do their dad impression and you’ll get the same three ingredients: a deep sigh, a pun nobody asked for, and a pause for the laugh that may or may not come.
My husband’s been working the same rotation for years:
😂 Why did the bicycle fall over? Because it was two-tired.
😂 Why don’t skeletons fight each other? They don’t have the guts.
😂 Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon? Great food, no atmosphere.
They’re not good jokes. They were never trying to be. They’re a delivery system for something else — a dad showing up, lightening the mood, making sure the kids know he’s paying attention to them even in the silliest moments. Twenty years from now, my kids won’t remember the punchlines. They’ll remember that their dad never stopped telling them.
The Lessons That Don’t Come With a Speech
Most of what my husband has taught our kids, he’s taught without saying much at all.
He’s taught patience by re-tying the same shoelace four times without sighing about it. He’s taught effort by letting a cornhole game run long instead of wrapping it up to “keep things moving.” He’s taught presence, mostly, by simply being there — at the reservoir, at the BBQ, on the floor doing whatever the kids are doing.
The greatest gift we can give our families isn’t perfection — it’s presence.
That’s a sentence I come back to often, and it’s the whole reason this one walk and one BBQ lunch have become sacred in our house. The kids won’t remember a perfectly Pinterest-worthy Father’s Day. They’ll remember our connection and time together.
A Few Words for My Husband
While Father’s Day is technically about honoring the dads who raised us, I want to take a minute for the dad actively raising our kids right now.
Thank you for the badly-timed puns. Thank you for never once letting a cornhole game be boring. Thank you for the quiet, unglamorous, everyday ways you show up — because those are the ones our kids are actually watching.
They are learning what steadiness looks like. What patience looks like. What it means to be loved well, just by watching you live it out. They may not be able to articulate that yet. But they’ll carry it.
A Closing Thought
As we spend the day outside — walking, grilling, losing badly at cornhole — it’s worth remembering that none of this beauty around us showed up by accident. The reservoir, the trees, the long June evenings — they all point back to a Creator who designed it, and who cares just as intentionally for the families enjoying it.
If you’re looking for a simple way to stay rooted in that even on your busiest, most chaotic parenting days, I’d love for you to grab my free 7-Day Devotional for Busy Moms — a few quiet minutes each day to reconnect with the God who’s present in every season, including the loud, sticky, cornhole-tournament ones.
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Happy Father’s Day to the dads, grandpas, stepdads, and father figures who keep showing up — pun after pun, year after year.
