(This is partially a response to this post about dads.)
We went to the park yesterday, as a family. I wore Dorothy in the Ergo, and Jeremy and I followed Valerie around as she showed her dad all her favorite park features. Eventually, Dorothy fell asleep, so she and I settled onto a park bench while Valerie and her dad kept playing.
I had never been to this particular park on a Saturday before. And maybe I'd just never paid attention before. But the park was full of dads. I counted more dads than moms, and none of the dads were sitting on benches. They were climbing on the structure, going down slides, swinging on swings, bouncing on the teeter totter, holding kids' hands, picking kids up, kissing their kids on their way down the slide, pushing kids on swings, teaching them how to pump their legs to swing higher, calmly redirecting them out of the swing radius so they wouldn't get kicked, reminding them of playground etiquette without yelling.
And I watched my best-friend-turned-father-of-my-children play with our daughter. I watched him celebrate with her as she went down the slide again, and again, and again, with genuine joy even on the 17th run. I watched their eyes light up as they laughed together. And I felt very blessed.