======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ==== ======= ======= ====== ====== ====== ===== ==== ====== ====== ===== ====
Wedding season is upon us, folks. This year, I’m a groomsman in two weddings. But I’m not here to talk to you about weddings. What I am here to talk to you about is the ticking time bombs that are set in motion when those getting married say, “I do!”
Other than seeing your friends exponentially less, weddings also set in motion what I refer to as, “the Two Year Rule.” By this, I mean that within two years, your newlywed friends you barely see are about to become extinct because they’re having a kid. Then comes their shitty gender reveal, baby bump pictures and disappearing from social events. They will likely be in a new wardrobe that values function over fashion. They become super casual about most everything else because their kid is the new center of their world and everyone else’s shit becomes second. This usually makes way for men to start making silly puns all the time and stop worrying about their beach bodies. This is what I call mom and dad culture. It’s like Jeep culture in that it’s something only people part of the cult understand.
“Madoff, you don’t even have kids, why are you bothering to write this?”
Now, I have a confession to make and not the Dave Grohl kind. I’ve culturally appropriated dad culture, and I kind of feel bad about it. I feel like I’ve adopted the swagger that comes with, “yeah I made this, I don’t have to prove anything” even though I didn’t actually make a human. I wear mostly t-shirts and don’t have time for tight pants. I love puns and dad jokes, and I will tell them to anyone within earshot. I drink cheap beer from a can. Sometimes, I fall asleep within seconds of turning on a movie, even if it’s not time for bed.
I came to this conclusion by accident. A friend of mine looked scruffy and had a stain on his shirt, which I pointed out. “You’ll have the same thing happen when you have kids” he said, even though I tell people all the time about how much I hate children. “You’ll love them when they are yours.” That’s when it hit me. All the years of not caring if my jokes are actually funny or just stupid. The countless times I’ve worn pajamas in public during the winter. The pastel shorts with boat shoes that have carried over from my college days. My affinity for laziness unless I need to be on my game.
So much made sense. I was before my time. It explains why, at youth hockey camp I help out at, people ask, “so which one is yours?” I usually brush it off as I look about 30, with my casually unkempt beard. I’ve worn New Balance shoes, although not the white middle aged dad kind, since I was a kid. I’m all about the function that dad culture offers. I bought a fanny pack and haven’t lost my wallet in my house since. Do I care if other people think it’s lame? Fuck no. I wear my gardening hat with pride so my western European terrible skin doesn’t get any worse.
— MadoffInvestment (@BLMInvestment) June 10, 2018
I know it’s not a huge deal, but it’s something I feel bad about. Dads have earned the right to not give a fuck in every aspect of their life whereas I merely adopted it. I was going through old pictures of my own father as a way to research where it all began, and I guess I am my dad’s son. The guy was rocking pressed shorts with not a cargo pocket in sight in all of my pictures. He rocked the old man Newbies in my old Cub Scouts picture. The casual pink polo while grilling? He had it down. Dads are generally decent people, so hopefully, I either fit in with the dad sheikh or they welcome me with open arms. Either way, I’m happy to give you a breather from your kid if you don’t call me out on being a dad culture thief..