Father’s Day is Sunday, which means it's time to celebrate the man who taught you how to tie your shoes, slipped you your first beer and kept your rebellious ass in line all those years. You have a number of elaborate ways to let Dad know he’s special to you, like fancy golf resorts and trips to Belize, but brunch is emerging as a popular way to spend the day with the dude who provided half of your genetic information. That is unfortunate.
Whether the dad you’re celebrating is your own or the father of your kids, he absolutely, positively, does not want to go to brunch on Father’s Day. No matter how many local restaurants try to lure you in with fancy wagyu beef and build-your-own taco stations, Father’s Day brunch just isn’t a “dad” thing. Even if your dad really loves chef-inspired cuisine and describes himself as a “foodie,” he doesn’t want to be dragged along to a restaurant with his offspring on the one day of the year that is set aside to celebrate his dadliness.
Your dad wants to sit on the couch, drink beer and watch whatever sporting event pairs well with a nap (e.g. baseball or golf). Maybe he wants to go play golf with his friends. Whatever it is your dad likes to do, you can bet that he won’t want to rush there after making it to a 10:30 a.m. brunch reservation. Sunday is the day to let your Dad do his dad stuff, even if that means you mow the lawn or get sloppy drunk and yell at the TV with him.
This is even more true if you, or one of your siblings, happens to be a small child. Father’s Day is all about relaxing and drinking, not making sure that little Timmy Jr. doesn’t pee in the fountain or scribble “666” on the walls of the restaurant.
We Believe Local Journalism is Critical to the Life of a City
Engaging with our readers is essential to the Observer's mission. Make a financial contribution or sign up for a newsletter, and help us keep telling Dallas's stories with no paywalls.
Support Our Journalism
Instead of brunch, why not supply Dad with enough raw meat and whiskey to make Don Draper shed real tears? Or get him those golf clubs that he’s too damn cheap to buy for himself. Dads are awesome, and they deserve better than a boring Father’s Day brunch. If you really insistent on giving him a memorable holiday, why don’t you tell him about your plans to run off an join a radical religious cult or start talking about how much you hate Ted Cruz instead?