Daddy Magic
Thoughts on Father’s Day.
This post was originally published on Father's Day, June 15, 2025.
Many years ago, when my kids were young, I told them I had Daddy Magic. Whenever Lilly or Indy got bumps, scrapes, or bruises, I would rub my hands together, blow into them, rub them together again, then place my hands on whatever hurt. That Daddy Magic, I told them, would make it all better.
So, one day when Indy was seven years old and bumped their ankle while putting away their scooter, Daddy came with his magic to help.
“You don't have any real magic, do you?” they said after I did my trick.
“Of course I do!”
“I didn't see any Pixie dust.”
“Daddies don't use Pixie dust.”
“But Daddy, my ankle still hurts.”
“Did the magic make you feel better?”
“A little, but it still hurts! You always say Daddy Magic will make it better but sometimes it makes it sting more. It doesn't work all the time. I don't believe it. I don't think you have any magic.” They crossed their arms and furrowed their brow.
I got down on one knee, glanced back over my shoulder, then turned to face Indy. “Look. I’m going to tell you a secret,” I confided, closing my eyes in a brief, dramatic pause. “Daddy Magic can't heal cuts, fix broken bones, make bruises go away, or stop bleeding. If you have a headache, you should take an aspirin. If you have a broken arm, you should wear a cast. If you have a cut, you should put on a Band-Aid. Daddy Magic won't fix any of that stuff. In fact, all the rubbing the hands and blowing into them? I made that up. So, you’re right to question it.”
I took a deep breath and put a reassuring hand on their shoulder. “Daddy Magic makes you feel safe. It makes you feel loved. It makes you feel taken care of. It makes you know everything will be alright. That's all it does.”
Indy looked off into the distance, then focused back on me. They seemed satisfied with my answer, and they apologized for saying I did not have any magic.
“My ankle doesn't hurt anymore,” they said as I left their room.
We got it from somewhere
Now, before I go giving myself any credit for being an awesome dad in that moment, it’s important to remember I did not spring into being knowing how to do this dad thing. Neither did anyone else. All us dads learned it from somewhere. And we all have a different way of doing it.
After my parents divorced when I was around six years old, Dad took us over to Grandmom’s house just about every Sunday. During those summers we would pick vegetables from the garden and spend the rest of the day in her pool. Sometime in the mid-afternoon we would come back inside where the air conditioner kept her place at around 60 degrees which, after so many hours in the humid Philadelphia summer heat, felt like stepping into an ice box. After getting a shower to wash off the chlorine, putting on some clean, dry clothes, and basking in that cold air, I could not have felt more relaxed.
Oftentimes, the extended family would come over for dinner, which always seemed to include the vegetables we picked from the garden. On those nights the grownups would head back out into the twilight after dinner to sit in what they called “the summer house,” a large screened-in gazebo my Grandpop built in the 1960s. They stayed there, each in their designated chairs and with their designated drinks, talking and laughing well into the night. They’d usually leave us kids to go back in the pool or sit outside and roast marshmallows over a Hibachi grill while a zapper glowed purple, crackling with newly fried bugs. I learned my first repertoire of dirty jokes eaves dropping through the screens.
Who knows when we would finally go home through the pitch black sky of a summer night. We’d all get into the car and without fail would pass out in the back seat, worn out from spending most of the day outside. I remember Dad carrying each of us into the house, one at a time, and tucking us into bed. Sometimes I’d fake sleep just so I could hold onto him (and be held onto) as he silently made his way up the stairs.
Daddy Magic
Back then, my Dad was 29 years old, recently divorced, with three kids to take care of (8, 7, and 4), working a job that didn’t pay him enough. At best, those times were difficult. At worst … well, they were a lot worse, and even us little kids knew it. But we always felt safe. We always felt loved. We always felt taken care of. And we knew everything would be alright. That right there was Daddy Magic.
It's also important to remember, even if he didn’t outwardly acknowledge it, Dad recognized he couldn’t do it all by himself. So whenever he could, he brought in his mom, brother, and sister – and sometimes even his high school friends – to help us out. Daddy Magic is often a community act.
For those dads out there, keep up the magic. For everyone, take a moment to remember your dad or whomever played that role for you. Remember the moments of Magic and, if that person is still around, give them a “thank you.” If they’re not, raise a glass, give a nod to their memory, and promise to keep the Magic going.
Have a question or any feedback? Please leave a comment - I'd love to hear from you!
