All my friends have been wishing me a happy new year, but it’s pretty clear they don’t really mean it. Let’s face facts here. If they really wanted me to have a happy new year, they’d have sent me a million dollars and a pizza.

Ignore those glad-handers, though, because the folks at Dad Writes are sincere about this whole “happy” new year thing. That’s why we sent $1 million and a pizza to everyone who solved our super-secret, invisible riddle before midnight on December 31. And, for all of you losers who didn’t make the cut, we’ve put together a consolation prize, our guide to How to Have a Happy New Year Even if You Don’t Have $1,000,000 and a Pizza. Starting with…

1. Eavesdrop on strangers. Yes, I know, everyone told you it’s impolite to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, but it’s allowed for Dad Writes subscribers. Whether you’re on a bus, waiting in line at Starbucks, or even watching the clothes dry at the laundromat, check out the conversation a few feet yonder. If they’re talking about a real tragedy, you can walk away feeling lucky about your own life. If they’re engrossed with nits, you can exit feeling both morally and intellectually superior. In either case, you can happily leave their issues behind.
   
   
2. Have a conversation. We don’t have a lot of conversations anymore, but we have a ton of debates. It’s such a joy, though, to actually exchange ideas and memories and goals with another human being. Even better, replacing debates with conversations is guaranteed to add 14 years to your life expectancy. (If you die sooner, be sure to download and sign our claim form for a full refund.)
   
   
3. Walk outside without a phone. Heresy, I know, but give it a try. It turns out there are all kinds of things to see and plenty of strangers for eavesdropping in the great wide open. Even better, everything is in 3D, so it’s just like the Metaverse, but without the goofy goggles.
   
   
4. Make a list of at least 20 important resolutions. Write down the most critical, serious, life-changing goals you can think of for your life. Re-read the list at least 100 times. Then burn it. Not gonna happen anyway, so why torture yourself by keeping a list?
   
   
5. Ignore politics. This is tough, I know, because everything is about politics these days, but give it a shot. Don’t read anything about politics, politicians, or their daily airings of grievances. Unlike the people who actually operate businesses and charities and, yes, government agencies, politicians only succeed by making you unhappy enough to send them money. Their failure will increase your happiness while helping you save more for retirement.
   
   

And, finally, the big one. Whenever you read something, hear something, or see something, whenever someone shares an opinion or an insight or a fact that might or might not be a fact at all, ask yourself the most important question for a happy new year:

Does this really have anything to do with my life?

Spoiler alert: Roughly 99.9999999% of the time, the answer will be ‘no’ and you can continue on your merry way, enjoying a truly happy new year. Not quite as happy as it would have been with $1 million and a pizza, but happy nonetheless.

Of course, the most important key to happiness in 2023, or any year, is to click here to subscribe to Dad Writes.

Even when I’m not sitting in my jammies and waiting for the Covid relief money to hit the bank, this is absolutely still my favorite week of the year. Once we’ve finished the sprint from Thanksgiving to Christmas, the pressure is off and there’s nothing to do but relax and feel grateful.

And, yippee, do I have a lot to be thankful for in my life? You bet I do. Yeah, there’s health and family and a roof over my head, yadda yadda blah blah blah, but this year in particular, I am grateful that…

1. I can spend the next ten months without wondering what Mariah Carey will want for Christmas.
2. It’s been more than a week since some politician sent me an urgent email to ask for $5 before midnight.
   
3. Miraculously, I’ve made it through one more year without becoming an internet meme.
   
4. Now that all my former friends have blocked me, I have so much less to upset me online.
5. Because I’m really, really old, I can’t remember all the crappy things that happened to me this year.
6. I didn’t get hit by a truck, so I didn’t have to read a news story where I was described as "elderly." At least I don’t remember getting hit by a truck?
   
7. With all the shows and miniseries on hiatus, I can visit social media sites without fear of spoilers.
   
8. Even though the sun hasn’t made an appearance in Chicago for more than seven hours this month, I’ve been assured the daylight hours are increasing.
   
9. The New York Times hasn’t sucked all the joy out of Wordle…yet.
   
10. Thanks to all the money I’ve lost in the stock market, my taxes are definitely going down next year. And probably the year after that. Hooray for me!!
    
11. With all the exercise I’m not getting, my gym shoes will last another ten years.
    
12. I have so much leftover Purell and wipes that I never have to take a shower again.
    

 
Seriously, what more could a guy ask for from life? It can only get better from here.

Let’s face it. Nobody’s going to return your calls or schedule a sales meeting or require your participation in some major strategic planning session this week. That means you have plenty of time to click here to subscribe to Dad Writes.
 
 
 
 

Happy Beams Day! Hoping you are having the most special holiday ever.

What? You’ve never heard of Beams Day? Maybe that’s because we just created it, and it’s the holiday we’ve all been waiting to celebrate togeth…uh, celebrate. Anyway, you’ll love it, just like all the other holidays we’ve added to the calendar to brighten your years.

Okay, so here’s the deal. Inspired by one of my favorite passages from the New Testament, Beams Day celebrates the moment we become aware of the giant two-by-four sticking out of our skulls, rather than picking endlessly at the pimples on our neighbors’ noses. (Not very sanitary, btw.) Jesus said motes and beams, or some Aramaic version of those words, but I think pimples are funnier and this is my blog, not his.

Anyway, I was torn at first about whether to call this Beams Day or Motes Day, since the New Testament mentions both, but it ended up being an easy decision. Looking around the world, both online and IRL, it appears that every day is Motes Day, and it’s only fair that beams get their own acknowledgement.

And it turned out to be really easy to find the exact right spot on the calendar for Beams Day, which is observed on the first Monday of November in every even-numbered year. By a remarkable and unplanned bit of timing that nobody could have foreseen, this is also the day before Election Day in the United States.

It’s a really lucky, and did I mention unplanned, coincidence that Beams Day comes before our elections. Based on all the ads we’ve been unable to avoid over the past eternity, this holiday is seriously overdue.

As always, the guy who voted against funding for the police department is complaining about crime and the woman who voted against cheaper insulin is complaining about the cost of drugs. I think there were two or three ads this year from people who wanted to tell us why we should vote FOR them, but those folks are dopes. The real money is in demonizing our opponents, and doing it so much that theirs is the only name voters can remember when they vote. I have no idea who I want to vote for in my area, but I absolutely recognize the satanic beasts they are running against.

Fortunately, today is the day when we don’t say a single word about any of our neighbors’ failings and only pay attention to our own.  This is the day when we look deep inside and recognize our own limits and those of our own tribe. On this very special holiday, which we just made up, we avoid the hypocrisy of castigating kettles.

From all of us at the Dad Writes Holiday R&D Lab, have a simply fabulous Beams Day. Hurry, though. Motes Day returns at midnight and it will be a lot like the purge.

If people actually switched targets for their vitriol for just one day, would all the algorithms on social media have a nervous breakdown? Hmmm…worth a shot, right after you click here to subscribe.
 

The clock is ticking down and I’m not nearly far enough into the conversation.

Yom Kippur arrives tonight, culminating our ten-day ritual of celebration, introspection, and pleading, literally, for a new lease on life. The home stretch that begins at sundown includes all the stages of grief, plus fasting and a dozen hours of religious services.

At sundown tomorrow, according to tradition, we either are or aren’t sealed in the Book of Life for the coming year. Jews aren’t big on predestination, but this is an exception. As the earth spins into darkness tomorrow, the pressure will become palpable, notwithstanding any doubts I might hold about a literal “Book of Life.”

While the Ten Days of Awe are filled with rituals and prayers handed down across centuries, I tend to look at the process as a conversation with God. I’ve never seen prayer as a plea for a swag bag, but more as a discussion between me and whatever particle of God is always living inside me, waiting for me to shut up so that It can be heard. And when the Days of Awe begin, our conversation always starts with a rebuke. I open with the hope for another year and the still, small voice asks why.

“What do you mean, why?”

“I mean “why.” I gave you a reprieve last year and how did you use that gift?”

“Ummmmm…”

And the trap is sprung. A year ago, I apologized for my failings and asked for another chance, and I know now that I received that opportunity. But as soon as the holidays were over, life returned to normal and I’m sitting in services this year, pretty much apologizing for the same things I atoned for in 2021. And 2020. And 2019. And…you get the idea. In the conversation that matters most, at least according to our tradition, I really don’t have much to say.

If I had to boil it all down, my answer would be, “not enough.” I didn’t feel enough, smile enough, help enough, share enough, celebrate enough, comfort enough, laugh enough, savor the gift of life enough.

Or, maybe, my answer should be, “too much.” I worried too much, complained too much, hid too much, disconnected too much, insulated myself too much, and ignored the wonders before me too much. I received a gift one year ago and I barely opened the package.

That’s the most painful part of atonement to me. It’s not about all the scripture or liturgy. It’s the recognition of how much I lost, how much I simply gave up of the gift I was given. How terrible would it be I receive another year of opportunity and I squander it the same way I squandered so much in the year that’s now closed? I couldn't possibly achieve 100% of the potential for the year ahead, but I can absolutely bump up my performance if I get another turn at bat.

The conversation has continued over the past week, both within the synagogue and while walking on my way, incorporating all the aspects of values and life, people and possessions, and the greatest of gifts: time.

It’s both draining and invigorating, and it ends tomorrow night when the final shofar blast confirms that THE BOOK has been published and only one Being knows what’s in it.

The clock is ticking.
 
 
 
 

So ya know what’s wrong with America today?

Okay, other than that.

And that.

And that other thing.

Hmm... Okay, I'll start over.

We don’t have enough celebrations in this country. Yeah, we have millions of holidays and observances and more mattress sales than you can count, but we don’t have any celebrations we can all share as one unified nation. You know, the kind of things the Founding Fathers loved, like barn raisings and burning witches.

Everything’s embroiled in politics now, so you can’t really celebrate anything with all your friends; only with the friends who agree with you about almost everything. And then they’ll spoil the whole party by ragging non-stop about the benighted souls who fell off the invitation list.

Nope, we need real celebrations where everyone’s on the same page, no politics allowed, and our team of party animals at Dad Writes has come up with the perfect list to bring joyful unity back to the United States. Mark your calendars and invite your friends as we cancel our Zoom calls and revel in the unbridled bliss of…

Rotgut Recycling: Somewhere in the back of the bar is a bottle, maybe two, that we will never, ever touch in our lives, until Rotgut Recycling Day on September 8. Maybe dad left some Slivovitz behind when he croaked, or some friend brought a bottle of Malort home from Chicago as a gag gift. Doesn’t matter. We’ll be competing for hair-on-your-chest cred on the 9th, if we all survive.

Freezer Burn Bakeoff. As long as we’re tempting fate, we’ll all dig into the back of the freezer on September 12 to pull out that thing that we don’t really recognize anymore…and eat it. It might be grandma’s lasagna or Uncle Sal’s chili, or something even worse, but we’re all going to have some fun stories to tell our friends on the 13th. If we all survive.

Coffee Cup Clearance: We’re almost certain to survive this one, or so we hope. On October 1, we’ll be grabbing all those coffee cups we don’t use…the World’s Best Lover and Flirtiest Mom and Ed’s Septic Service and Gina’s Getaway Lodge….and we’ll be donating them to charity.  Finally, a cleaning project that’s tax deductible for all those $3,200 “limited edition” items.

Curio Collector’s Capitulation Day: It’s the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen, but mom said to hold on to it because it was a collector’s item and it would be really valuable someday. Well, it will be hugely valuable on October 15 when we finally give that porcelain figurine of Princess Di and Elvis the heave-ho. Of course, we’ll donate these babies to charity, as well, and take the full deduction of $25,000, just to show faith in mom’s forecast.

Tattered T-Shirt Toss. A special celebration for women only, we reserve November 4 as the date you get to throw out that ratty, smelly, stupid looking T-shirt that he still thinks has three more years to go. As a special bonus, feel free to dispose of that godawful sweater he insists on wearing to holiday parties. Truly, you’ll be doing him a favor and, in states that allow it, burning is encouraged.

Traced Turkey Transfer: Yes, we’ll all be arguing about politics on Thanksgiving, but older parents everywhere will take unbridled joy in the new tradition of bestowing, um, priceless gifts on their children. Before any adult children are allowed to have dinner, parents will complete transfer all the “turkeys” the kids drew by tracing their hands, the paper mache pumpkins, and other piece of claptrap from their childhoods. It won’t be much of a celebration for the kids, of course, but their parents’ happiness will more than compensate.

But wait, there’s more. While all of America is busily celebrating our new days of joy, our crack team of social directors is cooking up even more ways to celebrate in orgasmic synchronicity. Coming next…Computer Cable Macrame, D Battery Demolition, Dust Bunny Bacchanalia, and, for all the hip social media types, the National Grease Trap Challenge. Seriously, you’re going to love it.

Sadly, you’ll miss out on all our new celebrations and lead a sad, miserable, hopeless, desperate existence if you fail to click here to subscribe to Dad Writes.
 
 
 
 
 

So now that everyone is working from home and Friday is pajama day, what do kids buy instead of ties for Father’s Day? So many mysteries to being a dad, including…

1. You can’t be afraid in front of your kids. You can tell them that you get scared sometimes, which is actually healthy, but you cannot be frightened in the moment. Whatever is going on, you have to hold it together until it’s over.
   
   
2. No matter how good a dad you are, there will come a time in your kids’ lives when the smartest, coolest, funniest, bravest, handsomest guy in the world is…someone else's father. Anybody else’s father. Everybody else’s father.
   
   
3. Dad reassured my sister by saying, “I’m always on your side.” We can’t always agree with our kids or support each of their choices, but at least they can know that we’re looking out for them as best we can.  
   
   
4. There are a million things we know as adults that we cannot tell our kids, hurts and harms that we cannot prepare them for without making them fearful and distrustful. The best we can do is be there to offer comfort after the fact and assure them they can handle it.
   
   
5. No matter how hard the kids stomp on your nerves, you can’t blame them when you lose it. Yeah, it’s an impossible demand, but too bad. That’s the job.
   
   
6. Your kids are like your doorbell camera, always on and always monitoring the situation. Whether you intend to or not, you’re making memories for them right now.
   
   
7. The only real way to judge your own performance as a dad is to watch how your own kids act when they become parents. It’s too late then, of course, but at least you’ll know. (Hint: if they’re willing to leave you alone with their kids, you probably weren’t the worst dad in the world. Or else they’re really desperate for a babysitter.)
   
   
8. Every so often, I think about writing a letter to my kids, apologizing for the many ways I let them down over the years. The only thing that stops me is the hope that they have forgotten some of it and I’d only be opening old wounds.

 
Being a dad is the best job I’ve ever had, and the most rewarding, even if I had no clue what I was doing most of the time.  I think the kids knew this, or at least suspected, but they let me off the hook and I appreciate it a ton.
 
Now that you know all you need to know about being a dad, just click here to show your thanks by subscribing to Dad Writes.