What About the Good Fathers?

A couple of months ago, I started to write a piece about all the celebration-and-recognition days, weeks, and months in America. Proud of this, hurray for that. Participation trophies for civic workers who are left-handed, and are missing a toe.

I gave up after an hour. There are too many of these Special Days. Far too many for any country that wants to call itself sane. I also stopped thinking about all the people who plan and stage the events; the ridiculous amount of time spent, the goofy work put in; the wall to wall mindless self-congratulation.

I did notice there was no Day set aside for fathers—I mean fathers who work hard and earn a living for their families and help raise their children and set an example. Don’t talk to me about the traditional once a year Father’s Day. It’s empty. Vapid.

I think there should be a whole month. FATHERS WHO EARN A LIVING FOR THEIR FAMILIES. Because it isn’t easy.

If men who gather together in the woods and beat drums and talk about their feelings rate books being written about them, then a Recognition Month for fathers who support their families should spawn its own stories about dedication, commitment, and hard work.

And if some synthetic group pushing who knows what can go to the White House and smile and shake hands with the President and pose for pictures, why can’t the good fathers earn an invitation and grab press coverage?

Because it would drive people crazy. That’s why. People who don’t know, and don’t want to know, what steady every day work is like would take to Twitter whining about the “crime” of exalting fathers and “desecrating society’s victims.”

I was probably moved to write this article an hour ago, when I read about a new documentary detailing the Canadian truckers’ journey across the country to protest Trudeau’s vaccine policy. And I realized that, in all the coverage of the convoy at the time, no one seemed to be mentioning the fact that these truckers actually work for a living, relentlessly doing something hard every day. They aren’t college students living off of loans, attending classes in which the professors instruct them on the latest woke causes.

The Good Fathers. We’re supposed to believe it’s an idea whose time came and went. We’re on the cusp of a New Age; robot machines are taking over from human hands and brains.

Therefore, we’ll all gain automatic status as citizens provided for by the State. And as the World Economic Forum proclaims, we’ll own nothing and we’ll be happy.

There’s the rub. Fathers who support their families actually own something. Something worth preserving; and when push comes to shove, something worth defending.

My God, we can’t celebrate THAT. Oh no. It would be counter-productive. Of course, the word “productive” itself has been redefined. It now means a free lunch.

Why? Because a free lunch is the precursor to free everything, and the small print on that government contract contains a clause which reads: “We give you survival, if and only if you behave.”

THE GOOD FATHERS AREN’T SIGNING THE CONTRACT.

In my dreams, I hear a mellifluous play by play man say exactly that on global television, with a thousand good fathers standing at the 50-yard line during the half-time show at the Super Bowl.

No music. No bands. Just 80,000 fans in the stands cheering.

Then we would really have something.

Then the shit would hit the fan and fly off into outer space.

And we would have even more.

Reprinted with permission from Jon Rappoport.