There is such a thing as The Dad Flourish.
The Dad Flourish is important. The Dad Flourish is something that doesn’t necessarily make sense. You could define it as a slightly irrational display of paternal fun and affection.
It can be anything. It can be an object, an impromptu road trip, a weird game made up as you go.
The Dad Flourish is very important, for both the kids and the dad.
I personally witnessed a Dad Flourish when I was a kid. We had two cars when I was growing up. For a while, my dad drove a light blue El Camino pickup. For some reason, he had “Riseman & Sons” painted on the side. My dad worked for the state of Illinois. He did not have a side business, and being 12 and 5, my older brother and I did not work for this non-existent side business.
I don’t think he painted it himself. It was kind of fancy, cursive handwriting. There might have even been a dropshadow. So my dad paid someone to paint a non-existent business sign (referencing his sons!) on the driver side door of his El Camino.
CLASSIC DAD FLOURISH.
I have a great time with my kids. I have danced with them on many occasions. But, despite that being well and good, that’s not really a Dad Flourish.
So, here is one thing I know for sure *is* one.
There is a Rec Center in the neighboring town. They have an indoor playground I sometimes take the kids to. They also have a gym. It consists of three full-sized courts right next to each other. It’s big, and usually pretty empty.
I like shooting baskets, but the kids aren’t yet strong enough to shoot baskets at the full height of the hoops. Probably as a result of this, they don’t really like playing with the basketballs too much.
So, I got this idea in my head. I take quarters and give them to the kids to throw and chase after. Often I will whip quarters too. If you throw it right you can get a good roll going, making a giant circle on the floor (these are throws close to the ground, not big airborne ones).
We haven’t been asked to stop yet, but as I mentioned before, the gym is usually pretty empty, and, ummmmm, I… keep an eye out for the “authorities”. This whole quarter-throwing business is slightly irresponsible, stupid and wonderful.
Dad Flourish. 🙂
Perfect.
I love it. My dad took us fishing and taught us the phrase piss ripper as his flourish.
Over the years, The Husband and boys (ages 49, 15, and 13) have amassed an arsenal of Nerf dart guns. On any given weekend, you’ll find them chasing each other around the house.
Dad Flourish, for sure.
But it was I who forced the boys to watch “Army of Darkness”, so now when they wave their weapons, they holler, “This… is my boom stick!”
Mom Flourish. Thankyouverymuch.
Roses, there are *totally* Mom Flourishes as well.
Thanks for sharing one of yours. 🙂
This is wonderful.
Sweet. My best dad flourish memory is when my dad agreed to take me swimming at the reservoir even though it was dark and cloudy, and rain was imminent.