A Reflection on Parenting Perceptions
The other day at work, I overheard a comment that made me pause:
"Man, dads have it easy. I'd love to be a dad. All they have to do is either go to work or, if they're not in their kids' lives, just reconnect when the kids are grown."
The vendor was chatting with some women at the front desk. While the comment wasn't aimed at me, it lingered. I couldn't help but wonder—why does this perspective exist? I wasn't offended; I was genuinely curious about what experiences or societal norms shaped this view.
Unable to hold back my curiosity, I politely joined the conversation. She laughed and said, "Of course, you're a nice guy and hilarious. You probably make your kids laugh all day, so it's easy for you!"
I chuckled—not in agreement, but in that "if only you knew" kind of way.
Sure, my kids might think I'm funny on a good day, but the humor fades fast when I ask them to be responsible. Take my middle child, for example. She tells me she dislikes me at least 15 times before 8 a.m.:
"I'm not getting dressed for school, Dad. I don't like you."
"No, I'm not brushing my teeth right now; I'm playing."
"I don't like you, Dad."
Let me set the record straight: being a dad isn't just about working and telling jokes. We wear a ton of hats. On any given day, I'm a therapist, chef, cleaner, landscaper, chauffeur, referee—you name it. Hence the name Whiskin'Dad—because dads wear many hats and are constantly whisked in multiple directions. "Easy" isn't the word I'd use.
I replied, "Not sure if I should take that as a compliment or a jab. But honestly, parenting is challenging for anyone, and the idea that dads 'have it easy' minimizes what many of us do daily."
Her response? "Well, dads can just get up and go to work. Moms have so much to deal with!"
My "Easy" Day as a Dad
I'll never argue that moms carry a heavy load. The mother-child bond is unique and naturally strong, especially in those early years. But parenting isn't a competition of who does more—it's about showing up, navigating challenges, and being present for your kids.
To give her a glimpse into my world, I walked her through a typical weekday morning:
Morning Start at 5:00 or 6:00 a.m.
Depending on whether my middle child decides to wake the entire house early, my day begins. After that, it's game on:
Breakfast duty. I've become a short-order cook because all three kids want something different. If I don't comply… well, let's just say I've learned to pick my battles. Disagreements or delays mean the clock is ticking, and if we're not careful, we'll all miss the bus. So, I whip up three custom breakfasts while packing school lunches like I'm running a diner on a deadline.
Laundry marathon. Toss in a load of laundry because letting it pile up is a weekend disaster waiting to happen. I also fold one or two loads to stay ahead of the chaos.
Wardrobe drama. Help each child get dressed, including managing the inevitable "I hate this outfit now"meltdown, which sometimes requires digging out a backup—or a backup for the backup.
Referee mode. Break up three to five arguments before 8:00 a.m. because someone looked at someone else the wrong way.
Teeth-brushing patrol. Ensure everyone brushes their teeth and at least attempts to tame their hair.
School drop-offs. Two kids go to elementary school, while the youngest is at Montessori (which I highly recommend). This means hitting two schools in one morning.
Cleaning the Chaos
After the drop-offs, I head home to tackle the chaos left behind. It's not just tidying—it's a full-on cleaning operation. I start by wiping down counters coated with breakfast crumbs and mystery smudges that I pray are peanut butter. Then, it's on to the floors: sweeping and spot-scrubbing a random sticky patch that no one can explain. (Spoiler alert: it's always Ms. Butterworth's syrup. GRRR.)
Next, I turn to the carpet. This involves picking up 55 Barbie dolls, four Barbie campers, and approximately 245,000 Lego pieces my feet have cursed at least twice. And let's not forget the tiny bits of plastic, hair ties, and random objects the vacuum refuses to touch. (Who knew vacuums had standards?)
Once the house is as close to a "clean slate" as it can get, I squeeze in, getting myself ready for work. I aim to be in the office by 9:30 a.m. Do I make it? Let's say the odds are not in my favor!
By the time I come home, though, it's as if a tornado swept through again. Any parent knows three kids can undo a day's cleaning in just 15 minutes. (Pro tip: only leave a room unattended if you're okay with returning to a scene that would make FEMA say, "What in the actual…")
The Invisible Load of Dads
I shared this story not to diminish what moms do—because moms are superheroes—but to shed light on the reality many dads face. Sure, some dads don't pull their weight, but plenty of us are in the trenches, juggling parenting, work, and life.
The invisible load isn't just about tasks. It's the mental weight of constantly worrying: Are my kids happy? Safe? Thriving? Will they grow up knowing how much I love them, even when running on fumes?
A few gym dads and I were talking, and we all shared the same stories about feeling taken for granted as dads. It hit me hard because it's a feeling I know all too well—and I'm clearly not alone. Society often portrays dads as either absent or just "helpers," overlooking the emotional, physical, and mental effort we pour into our families.
A Call for Empathy
I get why some think dads have it easier; historical gender roles play a big part. And sure, moms face challenges that dads often don't. But the truth is that parenting is challenging for everyone.
Instead of comparing who does more, let's appreciate the unique ways each parent contributes. To that vendor and anyone else who thinks dads "have it easy," I'd say this: parenting is a full-contact sport. Every parent—mom or dad—deserves respect for the love and effort they give to their kids.
So let's check our assumptions at the door, celebrate the dads who show up, and never take any parent for granted. You might just save someone from burnout—or at least keep them from finishing that second bag of Cheetos.
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