Fatherhood is hard. Yeah, there, I said it. Trumped only marginally by motherhood because of a nine-month gestation period and several agonizing hours of labour pain, we admittedly ill-equipped male halves of the species are charged by the Universe with helping procreate, nurture, protect and raise complex bundles of life from conception through the terrible twos, the teen years and ultimately into adulthood.

So where, we plead, is the operating manual for this Herculean task? Where might we find the cosmic instruction sheet or YouTube video on how to do all of this correctly; if there even is such a thing? If these paternal tomes exist, I certainly haven’t been privy to them, nor have I spoken with anyone who has. Rather, each of us is left to our own devices, our often questionable masculine intuition and what we can pick up from our own fathers, forefathers, friends, peers and otherwise experienced dads. For instance, my dad instilled an appreciation for all things sport in me. He’s also, no doubt, largely responsible for my competitive nature. He drove me to countless arenas both near and far for hockey practices and games when I was but a wee lad (insert short joke of your choice here for comic relief.) I’ve obviously followed quite closely in his footsteps.

            Sun’s Out, Guns Out!

However, the Dad Gods have also blessed me with a superb role model whose fatherly instincts are beyond reproach. You see, I have this friend who I can confidently say qualifies as a bona fide Super Dad. A man whose devotion, commitment and pride in his Boys is, in my estimation, equaled by few (present company excluded). And yes, I know lots of dads go above and beyond for their kids (present company now included), but this guy has consistently set the bar ridiculously high for the rest of us. From the moment each of his sons were born, he has sacrificed time and time again to bring his kids up properly, to steadfastly teach them right from wrong, to ensure they grew up to be fine upstanding young men. In this he has succeeded in spades and his pride shines through whenever he speaks about them or their personal accomplishments to date.

If you look up “dedication” in the dictionary, I’m positive you’ll find my buddy’s smiling mug. Some sports parents feverishly throw together pre or post-game snacks for their kids as they head out the door to the next field or arena. This guy literally spends hours filling coolers to the brim with homemade epicurean wonders; like 48 char-broiled, chicken souvlakis, a few dozen individually prepared spinach and pepper frittatas or mangos slices pared just so in order to maximize their tropical sweetness. His Boys, along with their no doubt salivating teammates, needed to eat and eat well they did.

Lots of dads take a little time off work to cheer at most of their kids’ games. My buddy has been known to drive five hours in one direction then back again to make sure he didn’t miss a minute of either Boy’s competition. All, of course, regardless the cost of food, gas, his time or anything else which might otherwise be a deterrent. On more than one occasion, I’ve tried to see if he slipped up, so I could catch a glimpse of the red cape I suspect he’s been tucking under his collar.

And never mind his own kids, this dude is everyone’s favourite uncle. Each child naturally drawn in by his larger-than-life spirit and genuine caring nature. Or perhaps it was the sincerely appreciated, albeit unnecessary Christmas presents he delivered every year without fail or the $5 he’d leave under their pillows for the gracious loans of their beds to save him a late-night drive home. On several occasions he’d show up at a rink to watch the Boy or Devil play as he’d also done more than once for other friends’ kids. Post game he was their biggest fan (present company excluded for a second time.) Unca Poobs is quite simply the best!

The only real blemish on this gentleman’s sparkling resume is the time he ruined the Holidays by tackling a certain family’s Christmas tree and in so doing crushing several cherished ornaments. In his defence, the Scotch Pine had been needling him the entire evening and the host of the yuletide event was eggnogging him on. This transgression was quickly forgotten.

In the fatherly helper category, he’s also come in handy. For instance, on one occasion he deftly suggested the Devil consider substituting her somewhat provocative teenage apparel choice for a burlap bag and some binder twine, so an not to attract any pre-pubescent admirers. What father wouldn’t appreciate this kind of sensible fashion advice?

Right now, my dear friend is going though a pretty rough time (#fuckcancer), yet even in this, his ability to inspire only grows. His current circumstances are hardly keeping him from cheering on the sidelines of blustery November rugby matches. Whatever he’s feeling on the inside is tucked bravely away as he stoically roots his lads and their teams on. An opportunity to teach lesson in courage and perseverance is not lost on him

       This Dad Done Good!

Overall, I think I’ve been a pretty decent dad, an accomplishment I owe in no small part to the example set by my fellow father. Thanks for helping me figure out how to do a fair chunk of this Brother. Methinks we done did good.

#imahockeydad

p.s. A GoFundMe campaign has been established here https://www.gofundme.com/eh96uwz8 for my friend to help cover some of his medical expenses. Please check it out and consider donating if you’re so inclined.

p.s.s. On a broader, related note, if you have another extra sec and can spare an extra shekel or two, bounce over to my #Movember page at https://mobro.co/imahockeydad to me help kick cancer’s ass and support men’s health. All us men-folk would be ever so grateful.