Rejected Fathers: Don’t forget to laugh

by Sheri McGregor, M.A.

When I was a kid, my father’s cousin visited from another state with her two boys. They were about twelve and fourteen, older than me, and lots of fun.

I remember their mom laughing when she told the story of stopping off for snacks during the road trip to our house. After one of those stops, the boys got quiet in the back seat.

Too quiet, maybe.

After a while, they asked their mother if she wanted a piece of their red shoestring licorice. They told her it was really good. When she said yes, they held out one end for her to take.

She said she pulled, and pulled, and it just kept coming.

They had tied all those skinny red licorice strings together, end to end, so what looked like one little piece became a long, ridiculous ribbon of candy stretching almost endlessly from the back seat.

My dad and his cousin then began to reminisce about all the fun times they had. On some level, it helped me see more how my dad got his sense of humor, and to connect more to his roots (and my own).

I have remembered that story all these years because it was so silly and harmless, so boyish in the best way. And … those boys grew up to be good, sensible, funny dads.

Which brings me to this: In some families, Dad is known as “the fun one.”

That’s not to say Moms aren’t fun or that dads aren’t serious. But yeah, dads bring their own brand of play: the ridiculous dad joke, the goofy voice, the extra scoop of ice cream, the cannonball into the pool. You know what I’m talking about.

Rejected fathers: Who’s laughing now?

Then, when fathers are rejected by adult children, dads end up losing that role. Where’s that kid they always made laugh? Where’s all that silliness supposed to go? It’s one facet of the loss that rarely gets talked about—the playful part of being a dad.

So Father’s Day hurts not only because of who doesn’t call, but because a father’s playful self has lost a very special audience. One that started when the child was tiny—and being tossed up into the air or given piggyback rides.

If that’s you, then I hope it’s helpful to name the loss, to feel the sadness over that—and then start to build some fun back into your life.

Let the dog make you laugh. Tell a corny joke. Look for and find the fun parts of life again. That might mean taking the Sunday drive, putting some feel-good music on, or getting yourself the extra scoop of ice cream. Find something that makes you laugh. Let ordinary life be enjoyable—without guilt. Just because an adult child chose a distant path doesn’t mean we can’t still have fun. We parents get to still laugh. And being fun was never only about them. It’s part of you … and a part that deserves some airtime.

This Father’s Day, you may not receive the call or the card. Maybe you won’t get the recognition you deserve. But your fatherhood isn’t erased because someone else refuses to honor it.

You still get to laugh. Your capacity for the silly side still exists. And nurturing it now for yourself doesn’t somehow betray your grief. Laughter can be healing.

So go ahead and excavate the fun side of yourself. Enjoy the meal. Tell the joke. Pull the long licorice string a little farther and see what’s still there for you in life.

For the fathers and everyone: Don’t forget to laugh. It’s good for the soul.

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