By Geoffrey Rowan

For almost every father I’ve known, nothing brings more happiness than fatherhood. It feeds our souls in the face of inner devils, ambitions, victories, defeats and even the sports channel. On Fathers’ Day, it is we who are thankful – that we get to be fathers. Sure, bring on the ties, cologne and dog-eared books from the discount bin but even if the day passed unrecognized, we would feel we won life’s lottery.

That said, the way we feel may not always be reflected in the way we act. “I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions,” said the writer Augusten Burroughs. “Me too,” said I.

In the interests of coming clean, I freely confess to these seven deadly sins of my flawed fatherhood efforts – the seven daddy sins.

Sloth – As you always suspected, I was not sound asleep and unable to hear the baby crying. Sorry.
Lust – But I was awake enough for that.
Gluttony – Once you have developed a taste for gnawed, drool-coated teething-biscuit ends, you have lost any claim on dignity. Mac-and-cheese from the kitchen floor, baggies of stale Cheerios and crushed cheese sticks in every pocket, and who put Oreos and Fudgeos in the grocery cart? I did.
Pride – Thank god my kids are better than yours.
Envy – Why aren’t my kids as good as yours?
Anger – I literally had just fallen asleep when you decided to see who could hit the highest note the loudest.
Greed – I want to hang onto this forever. Don’t you dare grow up.

Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, from one imperfect dad on behalf of compadres everywhere, thanks for every day, and happy Father’s Day.