I just want everyone to know that dad memes are the best, and if quality dad memes aren’t in your social algorithm rotation, you’re missing out.
They’re way better than mom memes, or at least they’re way funnier than the shorts my wife watches. Even she gets tired of the martyr complex of mom-internet, with its self-help mantras, sentimental aesthetic, and staid jokes about wine o’clock. Yes, being a mom is insanely hard, but we can laugh at it sometimes, right? The dads, meanwhile, are clacking their grilling tongs, wearing knee socks and sandals, making their kids groan with awful jokes, and dancing choreographed musical numbers about how long they have to wait in the Target parking lot for their wives to finish shopping. In the ever present war between Mars and Venus, the dad videos have the advantage with their wholesome and winsome fun.
The goofy dad stereotype, despite how easy it is to caricature, is also, strangely, beloved. Recently, on the cage fight death match that is Reddit, a thread made the rounds highlighting a “rare insult,” an insult so good and specific that it destroyed its intended target. The thread featured a middle aged man in an unbuttoned tropical shirt and a white undershirt, presented with the adjoining insult: “You look like the type of guy to go to a Mexican restaurant with his 2 kids and wife Jessica and at the end say, ‘welp, you kiddos ready to vamanos?’” It was meant to be an insult, but to my surprise, the replies were remarkably wholesome. “Say what you want, but this kind of dad usually treats people well and tips accordingly,” said the top responder, and another observed, “So he’s happy, fulfilled, contributing to society, and spending quality time with his family. Cool, sounds good to me!” The consensus was that, even though the sentiment was meant to be an insult, most would and should be glad to have a “vamanos” dad in their life. (My favorite response: “Did kids really go all emo and rebel against this kind of dad back in the early 00’s? Why the hell would they do that?”)
What is it, exactly, that’s so beloved about the archetype of the goofy, lovable father?
Back in August of 2023, Caitlin Flanagan set out to find an alternative to the idea of toxic masculinity. Writing in the Atlantic, she articulated that without a positive version of masculinity to show young men, toxic internet voices of misogyny and hate would be the only direction available to them. She concluded that the answer was “heroic masculinity.” Her argument was that the fundamental biological quality of manhood was physical strength, and that men who put that strength to the service and protection of others should be praised and held up as role models. For Flanigan, the perfect model of masculinity was encapsulated by the first responders responding to the 2003 Nashville Christian School shooting, men who were brave enough to get the job finished while also making sure to grieve the tragedy, weep publicly, and open up about the ways the event had caused them trauma.
Fair enough, but the image of a lawn-obsessed, tool-toting, fashion-backward dad tends to work in the opposite direction. This grilling dad is beloved, no doubt, but traditionally, the caricature does not associate itself with storied images of power and strength. They are not sex symbols in the same way that men in uniform tend to be, and a part of their ethos is precisely their sexual unattraction. Their physique is a beer belly, they haven’t bought new socks since the previous presidential administration, and the only thing that riles them to righteous anger is a bad call by a ref against their favorite sports team. If we’re looking for the opposite of toxic masculinity, this goofy father figure is definitely not toxic, but can we even consider this cultural odd duck to be masculine?
The answer is yes, the goofy dad is absolutely masculine. Adults may have trouble seeing it that way, but you can see the masculine power of a goofy dad if you view him from the perspective of his child.
This father figure, despite his anti-cultural fashion sense and distinct un-coolness, conveys strength in ways that are less obvious to adults but clear and obvious to children. To them, the father maintaining the yard shows a sort of strength over natural forces, taking on the dangers of heavy and industrial gas-powered lawn equipment that children are forbidden to touch. The father tossing his giggling children onto the bed models how strength can and should be used for fun and not harm, and when they hang on him and punch and kick him, the kids experience a sort of immovable force of love that can’t be harmed and won’t harm back. The tool-belt father fixing up the house shows a mastery over the material world, bending it and forming it to his will so the family can thrive. These are qualities we take for granted as adults, but through a child’s eyes, they are magical and aspirational.
Even as the child grows into adolescence, the emotional and social strength of the father is equally awe-inspiring. This father puts on a coat and tie, a tool belt, a uniform, or PPE every week to bring home a paycheck, managing four- and five-digit bank accounts that boggle the minds of youngsters with mere summer jobs. To succeed in the world is its own form of strength and power from the perspective of a teen mowing lawns for cash or a tween babysitting for fun money. Indeed, the socks, crocks, and cargo shorts of a goofy father proves that he is unmoved and unshaken by the fads and trends of the day. As fashion backward as dads can be, they are a psychological lighthouse that proves one does not need to follow the crowd to be successful, happy, and fulfilled. Like the weeping first responders, Flanagan’s vision for emotional and physical strength meet in this often caricatured and maligned vision of fatherhood, for those who have eyes to see (as kids do).
From the perspective of a son or daughter, then, the goofy father is overflowing with strength to conquer the world and life itself, but practically, it is strength hidden and restrained out of love and care. The goofy dad is anything but a strict authoritarian demanding fealty. Does this man have the strength to tear down and build up, to take from the weak, and to inflict pain on others? Absolutely, yes, but few actually believe they’ll do that. He’d much rather have a tickle fight than fisticuffs. A goofy father teaches their children that strength and power are real, but they must be restrained, honed, and applied for a higher purpose.
It’s easy to see, then, why religious faith tends to have shallow roots among those whose fathers aren’t restrained or goofy. It’s very hard to imagine God as a good father, one who welcomes home prodigals and gives his children good gifts, if someone’s actual dad doesn’t reflect that ideal.
When Jesus teaches about prayer, he asks metaphorically, “What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will instead of a fish give him a serpent; or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion?” (Lk 11:11-12). Knowing what I know now about life through the lens of ministry, I’m left wondering if someone in the crowd silently responded “my father — this describes my father,” and I wonder how they related to Jesus’ teaching. If an earthly father is abusive, then it’s hard to imagine anyone with physical strength constraining that power and using it for good. If an earthly father is absent, it’s hard to believe that anyone with power would use it lovingly on someone else’s behalf. It’s simply harder to trust that God is all powerful and all loving at the same time when someone’s earthly embodiment of that combination of virtues is defective.
Still, this kind of unimaginable agency used with restraint for the purpose of care and love is at the core of God’s character. The Christian God is described as unlimited power constrained out of love for his people, a righteous wrath and indignation that is pierced by a heartbroken love and a desire for something beyond justice. You can understand a lot about the nature of God from these “vamanos” dads, which is a strange thing to say at first, until you realize that that God is very keen to use the foolish things of the world to shame and humble the cool, the fashionable, the abusive, and the absent.
As Father’s Day approaches, then, it is good to remember the God “whose white New Balance Shoes we are not worthy to untie,” whose embrace of the uncool saves the world, and whose power and might is only rivaled by his love and compassion. Here, too, is a power of unrivaled force that can take a beating but won’t hit back. It is also good and right to honor the earthly embodiment of that value. Don’t be fooled by the socks and sandals. Goofy, loving, caring fathers, in all their anti-worldly inclinations, embody the sort of grace that heaven offers us all.
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2 responses to “Dad Jokes, Grill Tongs, and the Restraint of Heaven”
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Bryan, I was very surprised to discover how much I needed this but I was not surprised that it was you that wrote it. I’m so glad to see the Goofy Movie link, as it threads right back to your 2020 piece on that masterwork. (I just went back and commented again on it, having just watched it again with my kids.) There’s quiet desperation in our world for sure, but you’ve commended the quiet bravery that goofs against the grain and brother, I am grateful.
[…] Father’s Day weekend, you’ll forgive a smidge of self promotion if I praise the uncool, goofy fathers of the world. For a more touching experience of what it’s like to be a father, Garth Risk Hallberg writes […]