Let me tell you something about Father’s Day. It’s not all neckties and awkward hugs anymore. No, sir. Not in this house. Around here, we celebrate paternity the proper way—with a grill lighter in one hand, a perfectly twisted joint in the other, and enough love in my chest to knock the wind out of a Hallmark card.
I’m not just any father. I’m a proud father of three of the finest humans this spinning rock has ever dared to birth. These kids are smart, kind, funny—better than me in every way. I’d take a bullet for ‘em and they could roll a blunt with my ashes. They are my legacy, my joy, my proof that maybe, just maybe, I’ve done something right in life.
So today, on this high holy holiday of grilled meats and emotional repression, I spark one not just for them, but because of them. Because they remind me what kind of man I want to be—and weed helps take the edge off the man I used to be.
Let’s be real. Fatherhood is a trip. One day you’re trying to figure out how to hold a diaper without gagging, and the next you’re watching them pack their bags to go take on the world. Somewhere between the chaos, the joy, the PTSD, and them preparing to move on—you need a minute. Just one damn minute. That’s what the herb is for. It’s not about escaping fatherhood. It’s about soaking it in with a little extra clarity and a better soundtrack.
So here’s to all the stoned dads still getting the job done. We may smell like burnt pinecones and eye drops, but we show up. We do bedtime stories, school drop-offs, and emergency science fair projects due yesterday—with THC in our system and love in our bones.
Happy Father’s Day to the real ones.
Light it. Love them. And pass that torch to the next generation—figuratively, of course. They’re too young for the fire, but never too young to learn what it means to be present.
Keep it weird,
