Go easy on dad for his mistakes

Father’s Day is just around the corner, and I’d like to use this special occasion to tell you what a great job I did raising four daughters. I could be a power of example for young fathers everywhere.

But first let me make sure my wife and kids aren’t looking over my shoulder, or I may have to “walk back” my comments in the tradition of Joe Biden.

I still recall that fateful morning I was driving to the train station with my oldest daughter as she was telling me horror stories about her best friend’s father and the terrible things he did. It wasn’t the best way to start the day, even though I did take perverse delight in hearing about another guy’s mess-ups (They say we’re supposed to learn from mistakes, but it’s always better if they’re someone else’s mistakes.)

Anyway, I decided to take advantage of this opportunity to get some much-deserved praise for myself and my fatherly skills. When my daughter finished her excessively long narrative, I chimed in and did what lawyers call “leading the witness.”

“Geez, it’s terrible what that guy did,” I said. “I’m certainly not like that ... What kind of father am I?”

Her response was immediate: “OK ... I guess.” What a magnificent performance evaluation: Not just “OK,” but an equivocal “OK, I guess.” Take that to the bank. To quote my mother’s favorite phrase, “After all I did for you, this is my reward?”

I thought I deserved to be nominated for the Father Knows Best Hall of Fame, but instead I got the Homer Simpson booby prize.

Nevertheless, this painful experience taught me a basic principle of fatherhood that I want to share with wannabe fathers and fathers-intraining everywhere: NEVER ask your kids how well you’re doing because you won’t be pleased with the answer. To quote Bill Clinton, an exemplar of fatherhood for the ages: “Don’t ask ... don’t tell.”

Asking your kids to critique you opens a Pandora’s box of criticism that you’ll remember the rest of your mortal existence. You’ll still be dredging up those memories when you’re celebrating your 100th birthday at a nursing home in Okahumpka, Fla., where they send unappreciated fathers.

Even if the Congress sets aside a day to honor you for your great achievements as a father, and even if Pope Francis writes a papal pronouncement praising you for the great job you did, the only thing you’ll remember is the time your daughter said you ruined her life because you refused to buy her a third nose ring, or the time your son said he was emotionally damaged because you wouldn’t let him fly to Miami Beach for spring break when he was in middle school.

You’ll never be perfect so my advice is strive to be average. If you’re not the best, at least it will be comforting to think you’re better than the rest.

Fatherhood is surely a thankless vocation. I’m convinced that when Hunter Biden runs for president on a campaign to save democracy, he’ll blame his father for that notorious laptop. And when Donald Trump Jr. runs against Chelsea Clinton, he’ll try to distance himself from The Donald for the sake of his campaign and insist he was actually raised by wolves.

When it comes to fathers, you can’t live with them and you can’t live without them. Well, actually you can live without them, and too many families do. A lot of fathers notoriously neglect their responsibilities.

I’ve heard quite a few stories from young people who say their fathers are deadbeats who don’t pay child support or abandoned them or neglect them or berate them. There’s a long list.

God bless their mothers because they’re doing a tremendous job, by themselves.

In recognition of this great American holiday, let me end on a positive note. Once a bad dad doesn’t mean always a bad dad. There’s hope for redemption.

I grew up in an alcoholic home. There was physical and emotional abuse. There were fights. There was criticism. But what I remember most is how my father changed once he stopped drinking, with the help of guys in Alcoholics Anonymous. He lived the last 25 years of his life sober. He laughed, he joked, he loved his grandchildren. He may not have been a great father, but he was a great grandfather.

It took me a long time to realize that he did the best job he could with the tools he had been given. His father died at 42 from alcoholism, and his mother raised nine kids by herself during the Great Depression. Everyone carries some baggage.

So go easy on your father this Father’s Day. Forgive his mistakes because you’ll make them too. And you’ll never understand how difficult fatherhood is until you get your learner’s permit.