A Father’s Day Reflection from Chaos and Craft
Let’s be honest: fatherhood has never been a clean or quiet pursuit. It’s not a series of wise parables gently dispensed over fishing trips, nor is it a Hallmark montage of sweater-folding and football catches in soft lighting.
No.
Fatherhood is being asked to assemble a 487-piece swing set with instructions that begin in Danish and end in existential despair. It’s being interrupted during your one moment of peace (in the bathroom, naturally) to explain how taxes work, how gravity works, and how feelings work – all before wiping.
And yet, somehow, the fathers of the world keep going. With half a cup of coffee, a half-remembered YouTube tutorial, and a full sense of misplaced confidence, they rise to the occasion.
At Chaos and Craft, we see you, Dad. You, with your four open browser tabs on “how to fix a garbage disposal,” your half-finished basement projects, your emotionally stunted but heartfelt advice that usually starts with “Back in my day…”and ends with a shrug and a sandwich.
We’re not laughing at you. We’re laughing with you. Or at least adjacent to you. With admiration.
Chaos Is the Curriculum
Fatherhood is not a lesson plan; it’s an improvisational workshop run by a man who once tried to iron a shirt while wearing it. It’s a masterclass in bluffing. In responding to “What’s the square root of 1,600?” with “You’ll appreciate that more if you figure it out yourself.” (Classic Socratic dodging, well done.)
It’s also a study in contradictions.
The same man who says “Don’t cry over spilled milk” will experience a spiritual collapse when someone adjusts the thermostat.
The one who insists “It’s not about the gift, it’s about the thought,” will still keep the weird paperweight you made in kindergarten like it’s a holy relic.
He yells at traffic, but whispers to the dog.
He builds bunk beds with loose screws, but holds together entire households with invisible bolts of presence.
The Original Prop Comic
If you think about it, dads are natural playwrights. They monologue. They block scenes in garages. They improvise. They repeat their catchphrases with absolute conviction (“Money doesn’t grow on trees,” “Because I said so,” “Ask your mother.”)
They wear costumes—some intentional (baseball coach), some tragic (socks with sandals).
And they carry props: a half-chewed pen, a jingling ring of keys, a wallet that looks like it survived a war.
Their stage is the driveway. The grocery aisle. The dinner table.
And like all great performers, they only get applause after they’ve left the room.
Thank You, Dad (Even If You Made Me Hold the Flashlight Wrong)
So on this Father’s Day, we raise a metaphorical mug (or an actual one with “#1 Dad” peeling off in the dishwasher) to the men who muddled through with grit, love, and Google.
Whether you fathered through discipline or dad jokes, stoicism or salsa dancing, the impact was real.
Because fatherhood, at its core, is an act of radical commitment:
To show up. To try. To pretend you have the answers until the kid realizes that nobody really does—and loves you even more for it.
To all the dads who fixed the unfixable, taught us to laugh at ourselves, and made sure we knew how to check the oil (or at least call someone who does):
Happy Father’s Day.
And don’t worry — we finally put the tools back in the right drawer. (Except the 10mm socket. That one’s in the Upside Down.)
Brian Brijbag 