A friend of mine recently referred to himself as a “girl dad.”
He said it with pride, as he should. There was a sweetness in the way he said it, like he had discovered a special title that came with a secret handshake, a pink backpack, and a lifetime supply of emotional growth.
“Sheesh,” I thought to myself, “My dad could write the book on being a girl dad.”
After all, he raised five daughters. Five.
That’s not just being a girl dad. That’s varsity level. That’s advanced placement girl dad. That’s living in a house where the bathroom was never free, the phone was always in use, and someone was always crying, laughing, slamming a door, borrowing a sweater, or asking for a ride.
Raising five daughters must have required patience, diplomacy, a high tolerance for noise, and the ability to pretend not to hear things. My dad mastered all of it.
He was outnumbered from the beginning. Ours was a household of sisters, opinions, hair products, shoes by the door, and probably more drama than any one man deserved. But he never seemed overwhelmed by it. Or at least, if he was, he was smart enough not to show it.
He just carried on.
That might be one of the great underrated strengths of fathers. They carry on.
They go to work. They fix things. They show up. They drive you places. They listen, sometimes while pretending not to listen, which is often when they hear the most. They offer advice you may or may not take. They quietly pay attention to who you are becoming.
Looking back, I realize how much confidence comes from growing up with a dad who believed his daughters were capable. There was no suggestion that life should be smaller for us. If anything, the expectation was that we would figure things out, speak up when necessary, work hard, and get on with it.
That kind of parenting sticks.
Of course, with five daughters, my dad also learned survival skills. He learned when to retreat. He learned that a household full of women could turn on a dime. He learned that a simple question like “What’s going on?” could be either brave or foolish, depending on the day.
But mostly, he learned how to love daughters well. Not perfectly, because nobody does that. But steadily. Dependably. With humour, patience, and that particular dad-like way of saying very little while somehow saying a lot.
These days, the term “girl dad” has become a popular badge of honour, and I’m glad for it. There is something lovely about fathers celebrating their daughters and taking pride in that role.
But in our family, my dad was a girl dad before it had a name.
He didn’t need a hashtag or a T-shirt. He had five daughters, which meant he had already earned the title several times over.
So, Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there, especially the girl dads.
And an extra nod to the ones who raised whole households full of daughters and lived to tell the tale.
