Happy Dads

I’m pretty much a character out of a Bob Seger song: unemployed and in desperate need of a milkshake.

The happiest you’ll ever see a dad is with the family car loaded up for a summer roadtrip — the floaties, the coolers, the sunscreen — topping off a tank at the station, ready to roar.

Spotted one the other day at Charlie’s station, a dad so happy with anticipation that he looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Now that’s happy.

No idea where he was going — it didn’t matter. Shortly, he would pile the kids into the just-washed family car. There’d be games, books and Pirate Booty in the backseats.

The hope? To get 100 miles in before the first bathroom break. That’s the hope. Rarely happens.

American dads are all Portuguese explorers. We head off this time of year, at the behest of Spain, to find new trade routes.