Insert Foot: The only thing I want for Father’s Day

Tony Hicks, Father's Day

Tony Hicks with two of his three daughters, with whom he hopes to spend Father’s Day.

On Saturday, my 15-year-old texted me in a semi-panic. She had strep throat all week and was afraid she wasn’t going to be able to see me on Father’s Day.

So I just wrote her out of my will.

Ha! That’s a good one … like I’m going to have anything to leave my kids.

Just the fact that my daughter cares so much about Father’s Day is present enough (she doesn’t have a job, so I’m being realistic). Her older sister, who does have a job but has no money because she’s busy fulfilling her responsibilities to keep Jeff Bezos afloat by having at least five packages delivered daily, will also donate time. She took the day off to hang out with her dusty old dad (me, I think. At least that what I thought she meant).

Their eldest sister lives in Spain. But she gave me her car before she went, so she’s on the nice list in perpetuity.



My youngest kid gets it. Not being a capitalist swine (as if I have a choice) I just want time. No gifts. Unless they can figure out how to box up a good nap.

Though my 21-year-old once turned a basketball into a planter for this huge Father’s Day plant I still haven’t killed. Which is still pretty great.

I told my youngest daughter, whom we’ll call Lucy (because that’s her name), just get better. Eat your vitamins, drink water, sleep and we’ll see … which actually sounds like a fantastic time.

Do that and see what happens. I took the day off, so I’m ahead either way. Though of course I’d prefer the time with my daughters.

I was going to write about rock and roll dads on Father’s Day, but … what do I know? I was done playing by the time I had kids (I was done about seven minutes after I started). And, outside of Phil Demmel of Vio-Lence – whose social media posts about his kids make him look like the Ward Cleaver of thrash metal – it’s not like rock dads have such great track records. Balancing that career and successful fatherhood is almost always messy.



Being a dad is like so many other things. You think you’re really good at it until you’re old enough to finally understand all the things you don’t know, and certainly couldn’t have known when you were younger, more egotistical, less sober and much, much dumber.

I hope I don’t say that about my 2023 parenting skills in 2043. It’s possible, which is scary but motivating. I don’t want to be the guy who was a way better grandfather than father because he’s trying to make up for lost time and score quick karma points while there’s still time.

I will say I’m better at it now, for many reasons. I quit drinking, so I actually remember my kids’ names most days. I’ve mostly learned when to keep my mouth shut, which is actually the most important all-around life skill I (and many others) wish I’d learned much earlier.

But mostly, I’ve learned the most important thing is showing up. That’s all kids want, and it ends up being all parents usually want once the kids get older.

That’s it. Nothing takes the place of time.



My dad was gone at 61 (time was always our biggest problem, and it went both ways). He knew we didn’t spend enough time together, for which he tried making up for his last year or two (he didn’t know it was his last year or two, so bonus karma points for Dad). And after all the messy stuff, what I wouldn’t give to watch one more basketball game with him, which he loved, despite insisting all the games were fixed … right before he’d tell me recycling was a conspiracy. (Do we really know where all that stuff goes?)

Perfunctory gifts are rarely worth the money. Spend time with each other. I wish my kids were still small enough to fall asleep next to me watching movies, or actually have nothing better to do than hang around with me every day. Now the greatest thing in the world is seeing them together, being sisters. That doesn’t happen enough.

And if it doesn’t happen this year, we’ll reschedule. Father’s Day is a day someone puts on a calendar. There’s another 364 days each year. That still doesn’t seem like enough time when your kids are suddenly much more interested in things not named Dad. I’m glad that’s finally obvious.

Follow music critic Tony Hicks at Twitter.com/TonyBaloney1967.

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