I need to admit something: I’m awful at giving gifts to my father. When I look back, I don’t know why I always figured my dad needed another coffee table book or a gift certificate to a restaurant he probably doesn’t even like. So with that being said, I not only want to apologize to my father for being a shitty son, but I also want to give my unborn son a gauge for the expectations I have when it comes to gift giving.
And what better time to do that than just before Father’s Day?
Fisher-Price Golf Set
There were two reasons my mom taught me to golf. First, it’s a “life” sport that I can play from high school, to business meetings, to retirement. Secondly, it gave her an excuse to hit the links with me on the weekend rather than confront life’s realities.
Well, if little Steve Yzerman deFries is rocking out some Fisher-Price Golf Clubs, what better excuse to get out of power-washing the driveway than taking him out to the course for some much needed swings with Dad? I’ll toss a little bourbon up in my “#1 Dad” Tervis tumbler while watching lil’ Stevie putz down the fairway, because that’s what good fathers do.
Hey, Daddy’s gotta eat too, right?
Someone recently asked me if I go to church. My answer, while disturbing when I heard myself say it out loud, was one of the most profound things I’ve ever said: “I used to go to church until I discovered golf and started spending my Sunday mornings on the course. I’ve never talked to God so much in my entire life.”
And since we’re on that topic, let’s indulge in a confessional as well: I hit 3-wood off the tee. Do I still abide by my personal mantra, “great hair, long drives” despite teeing off with a 3-wood? Yeah, of course, because I swing hard as fuck with my plane on the perfect path. But everyone knows that true ballers need to let the big dog eat. What better way to do that than with a Callaway Big Bertha Alpha 815 Double Black Diamond Driver?
I’m going to have to consult my legal counsel on this, but I just feel like you can’t get a DUI in a golf cart. I mean, I get drunk on the course, and I’ve never had one person say anything about me being behind the wheel of the cart.
Just hear me out. This is Peak ‘Burbs. I construct a little overhang off the side of the garage that I can park this little guy under, and when I need to watch the Lions game with John down the street, I can hop in and drive at a cool 12 miles per hour to his place without fear of spending $10K to keep me out of jail.
Oh, what’s that? You can get a DUI in a golf cart? Alright, well, I still want one.
How else am I supposed to know if John is grilling in his Green Egg on his porch pre-Lions? He’s not answering his texts because his iPhone is too busy playing Buffett Pandora, so I’ll just fly this bitch over his backyard with a Crittercam strapped to it to see how much he’s maximizing his chill. If I see his kids outside playing on the trampoline? I stay home and avoid the yelling. Johnny chillin’ the most in an unbuttoned short sleeve button down? I hop in my golf cart and tool down there. Just try finding a hole in that plan. You can’t.
The Full Tommy Bahama Collection
Someone say, “unbuttoned short sleeve button down”? I’m not trying to be one of those fashionable dads who wears tailored dark jeans with a button down shirt that has contrasting colored cuffs. I’m trying to be the dad that people see at parties and think, “Shit, I bet he smells like coconuts and has some killer deep sea fishing stories.” I’m not saying that a modern-day Ernest Hemingway would be wearing exclusively Tommy Bahama, but the modern-day Ernest Hemingway would clearly be wearing a Paradise Mod Camp Shirt tossed over a pair of Naples Vista Viewpoint 6″ Swim Trunks. If I get to wake up every day and ask myself, “Which short sleeve linen shirt do I wear today?” then I’m doing something right.
Margaritaville Key West Frozen Concoction Maker
Kid Recently described himself as, “the Jimmy Buffett with hair who swears,” so I’m obviously going Full-Buffett until further notice.
That being said: get your hoe-ass blender the fuck out my face. If we aren’t riding the premium margarita wave with a Buffett-certified Margaritaville Key West Frozen Concoction Maker, then we’re doing fathers around the globe a disservice. I don’t want to live in a world where the ice in my frozen margarita isn’t perfectly shaved. I want to be able to throw an entire lime tree and a handle of tequila in this bitch and have it spit out the world’s smoothest tasting marg that pairs perfectly with my Tommy B. threads.
A Weekend Of Solitude Where I Can Watch The US Open With No Distractions
Fatherhood is a beating. I don’t think it’ll take long before I’m tired of sitting in my La-Z-Boy leather recliner with my wireless headphones in. I’ll tell you what, honey. How ’bout you and the kids head to the pool for the day and have dinner on me? I’m going to open the sliding doors to the back porch, get my surround-sound game tight so I can hear the waves crashing at Bandon Dunes, and spread my wings like every father needs to. Then after we put the kids to bed and I’m a few premium margarita pitchers deep, we can go to third base before I pass out because I have be up early for work on Monday.
Sounds like a Happy Father’s Day to me. .
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