One of the great things about being a parent is the strange collection of modern artifacts that wind up in my home. They come from the assortment of parties, parks, restaurants and homes we visit. But they are virtually untraceable after entering our home. They eventually find their way into the crevices of our couch or in the utensil drawer.

by John Boyd

And sometimes it’s just plain funny. For instance, right now there are at least six harmonicas in my house. I don’t play the harmonica. Jennifer doesn’t play either. But one of my three children on any given day will walk through the den just heaving through a Cracker Barrel mouth harp. She will have just found it stuck up one of the stuffed animal’s pajamas, which was underneath the tricycle, which was stuck in the azaleas out back.

That harmonica had better enjoy its time at the slobbery toothy grin of my daughter, because it will soon be underneath the dresser with a half eaten cheese sandwich from last Saturday.

I sometimes see this time in my child’s life as an opportunity to be a kid again. I like to grab the tambourine and walk behind them as they honk. Together we form a little two-person band, parading through the halls of home. They just love the experience, of seeing their dad delight in their silliness. I can see it in their eyes,“We make a good team, don’t we daddy?”

Despite all the drama (and believe me, there is plenty of drama), this really is a hilarious time. I intentionally don’t write about the mealtime meltdowns, bathtime brawls and the clothing catastrophes. I intentionally ignore it because I’ll unintentionally forget it. Years down the line, I won’t recall one bit of the frustration. And even if I do, I’ll see it from a different place. I won’t remember it as the daily norm, but more as a hiccup between story time and harmonica practice because this time is just hilarious, provided I don’t take myself so dang seriously!

For instance, my four-year-old Sarah is quite particular about her things. She is fairly tidy, likes to dress conservatively and is sweet to the core. She’s smart and sassy. But she keeps this ridiculously large booger collection beside her bed. I mean, it’s disgusting. But when you explain it to her, she laughs so hard she reverts to diapers. I know at some point I’ll put an end to it. But right now, I almost want to congratulate her. “That’s some collection there honey!Wow, look at that one. Quite a doozy!”

This is the joy of fatherhood. It really is. To laugh along with dumb jokes, to act surprised when they spell their name correctly, to congratulate them when they get back up, to scold them for being insensitive, all of this and so much more amount to the goodness of being Dad.

People like to ask new fathers how they like being fathers. Sometimes they ask dads like me, with three under roof. I don’t think anyone asks fathers of teenagers how much they like being fathers. At that point, the time has probably passed when you can form a two-person marching band with a harmonica and a tambourine, dress in ridiculous outfits and then have a tickle fight on the floor.

Chris Rock said once that for all the hard work that daddy does, he don’t get nothing except the big piece of chicken. But dads get so much more. For a short time, and for brief spells, we can enjoy being a kid again. We can delight in the utter foolishness of childhood. We can be the best thing in the world to a child.

These moments are passing, dad. You have heard it enough times, but it’s time you lived as if it were true for you. They grow up so fast. It’s Father’s Day today, I don’t care what the calendar says. Today is your day, now give it away.

Are you ready? The parade is about to begin.

John Boyd is an honorary member of a secret sorority. He is the father of three girls, just like his father-in-law, grandfather- in-law, maternal uncle and one of his brothers.

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