I’m dad mad, at best; that anger that burns at a reliable, reproducible rate like a starter cube in a charcoal chimney. I represent the utility smolder. This is the anger whose only outward expression is to establish that you have performed below expectations. You are loved throughout. But there is a gulf, a kind of void, between your potential and your actions and when you force me to live in that place I resent it.

See? I’ve been dadding for a long time. I can ride that edge.