Daughters - Funny Parenting Stories for Fathers (and Mothers)

Helping You and your Children through Life

If you’re interested in what Kepler is sharing with his family, he has written his contributions to the future of our country and is ready and willing to share it with you. Kepler has written “Raising Tomorrow”. Inside the book is 208 pages of wit (not wisdom. Remember no parent knows what they’re doing.) to help and inspire parents to talk to their children. As Kepler said to me, “Raising Tomorrow invites parents to slow down, sit with their kids, and start the kinds of meaningful conversations that actually shape character—and last a lifetime.”

Another school year is coming to a close. The Miracles of Christ are counting down the days to their freedom. I’m checking the liquor cabinet to make sure I have enough to see me through summer.

Stories and Lessons Abound

It’s been another year filled with exciting stories and life lessons. Some days have provided a little more excitement than I would like. Parenting isn’t easy. Any parent knows that, but sometimes Life feels the need to send us a little reminder from time to time.

I love when fellow Daddies and Mommies reach out to me with a little tidbit or anecdote. It’s nice to see who I’m in the boat with. You might also know there are people who reach out to me with their own collection of stories, products, and services. Sometimes it’s something that can make your life easy. Sometimes it’s something to enjoy with your own child or it can be something for a daddy or mommy to use and enjoy, something to give them a break for a moment or two on the parenting journey.

Kepler Knott is a fellow participant on the parenting journey. I say this site has parenting humor, not advice. No one knows what they’re doing anyway. Kepler knows what I’m talking about. He, like other parents, knows how hard it is to raise children and guide them through the struggles and trials of life. Kepler talks to his daughters whenever he gets the chance. These chances could be when his daughters are coming to him with a problem or just when he has something to impart to them. Hopefully his children are listening to what he has to say. He has a lot to share that can help them in life.

Kepler Knott and his Book

… [T]hese days it seems we are all so worried with why and how we are different that we forget the things that make us alike and (should) hold us together.
– “Raising Tomorrow”

“Raising Tomorrow” is divided into 16 chapters. Each chapter focuses on a different part of life. Throughout the book, Kepler invites you to sit in on a conversation he is having with his daughters. His conversations cover just about everything you see, hear and read about. There is even a chapter titled “On Politics”. This important chapter doesn’t endorse or condemn an ideology. Instead, it warns his daughters about the heightened rhetoric that has taken over the United States and the civil discourse that has waned and deteriorated with each election cycle. Honestly, you don’t need to be a parent to read and learn something from this chapter.

Kepler’s book warns his daughters about boys. Boys are an interesting species to observe. I have a preteen boy myself, and I’m lucky if his responses are than a grunt or a one-word answer. The crew he hangs with is also something to observe. There is always a story to hear. The days lived and led by these young men are certainly entertaining.

All Parents have Been there

“Raising Tomorrow” will have you nodding more than once as you read. It has a lot of useful, anecdotal information that you can share with your family. Kepler is the father of two daughters, but there is plenty for parents of boys that is useful and helpful, and I’m not just taking about the chapter “On Boys”. Kepler’s life lessons learned at work, at home, and in the military have laid a foundation that prepares him for life every day.

Note to self: it’s important to have a Plan B.
– “Raising Tomorrow”

Some days parenting are harder than others. There can be difficult situations and touchy conversations. As parents, we try to get out in front of these situations so a conversation isn’t more difficult or awkward that it might be. From school, to religion, to relationships, “Raising Tomorrow” makes great points and offers openings at various times to talk to your children, daughters and sons alike, about their lives and whatever challenges may appear on the paths they choose. It’s not always easy getting your kids to listen, but at least you can say you did what you could to help them on those paths.

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Dad and Daughter Together in the Cornhole Tournament

We had a lot to figure out as we prepared for battle. The Oppressed, who is still growing, needed to figure out the proper “oomph” to give her beanbag tosses .

The Oppressed thought it would be a great idea if she and I played in a cornhole tournament together. The tournament was at the local YMCA. I play cornhole occasionally. If you play, you know how fun it can be. If you don’t play cornhole, you should.

There were plenty of other sights to take in that day. The Oppressed and I saw a raffle table, a food truck. There were five or six cornhole courts set up at the playing field. Every team, including us took turns to practice our skills. There were some practice matches before we kept score for real.

The Cornhole Tournament

If you don’t play cornhole, you should.

We had a lot to figure out as we prepared for battle. The Oppressed, who is still growing, needed to figure out the proper “oomph” to give her beanbag tosses. At first, the tosses didn’t reach the board. The arc was too high, then she adjusted her footwork. After tweaking the angle, she was able to hit the board.

Sometimes hitting the board was enough to score a point. Unfortunately, the boards were waxed and varnished. They did look pretty, but this prettiness presented another challenge for father and daughter alike. The beanbags would slide off the boards and on the ground. You only get points if your beanbag stays on the board for the entire round.

There was an occasional stroke of luck for us from time to time. Sometimes, we would get our beanbag in the hole. When this happened, the best our opponents could hope for was to get theirs in the hole on offset the points we had scored.

I talked about The Oppressed throwing the beanbags. My throws weren’t that much better. I made adjustments as best I could. A little more arc here. Aim over there. During the game, I tried to shout advice to my daughter from time to time. Unfortunately, our efforts and my advice didn’t do us much good. We lost the first game. We lost bad.

I wasn’t too upset about it, neither was my daughter. It was a double-elimination tournament, and a little break in the action gave us time to discuss strategy for the next game. I liked our chances for the second game. Between the warm-up rounds and the first game, there was enough practicing and fine-tuning for us to redeem ourselves in the second game.

The Second Game

We were ready to go for the second game, and we got out to an early lead. This was good for us. It would give us a chance to stave off elimination. Plus, the extra games would give us a chance to improve our skills, which meant better throws and more points as the tournament continued.

The final score wasn’t pretty. That’s us on the left.

Our lead was short-lived, however and we fell behind. I wasn’t worried, though. I was confident we would catch up and retake the lead. We didn’t retake the lead.

Our team was eliminated in two games. It was pretty ugly. I don’t know if it was our technique or if it’s just been that long since I played a sport (Cornhole is a sport, right?), but we did not fare well at all at the YMCA Cornhole Tournament. We needed to assess our effort and future, if any with cornhole.

Lunch, and a Different Game

We commiserated over lunch at a local restaurant. The Oppressed chose where we would be eating. Coincidentally, it was where The Boy celebrated the end of his baseball season.

I like this place because it has Keno. I like to play Keno when I go out to eat. The Oppressed saw what I was doing, and when she saw that I needed to pick numbers, she immediately decided that I needed her help in choosing said numbers. She was very proud as she presented my slip to me with her specially chosen numbers.

Numbers were played. We watched the Keno screen as we waited for our food. We talked about our day at the cornhole tournament. When the food came, we ate and continued to watch the screen for our numbers. We got some of our money back. We didn’t get it all back, just some. The Oppressed wants to play Keno again. I’m not sure how I feel about her gambling so early.

Moving into College for the First Time with Your Child

The family has already started our school routine, as we have taken Lovie to college. This was the first time I had a hand in moving a child into their dorm.

The glorious institution
of higher learning.

Summer is winding down. Days of sitting in front of a screen all morning while downing a box of sugar-infused cereal and then complaining of no food in the house will soon be replaced with frantic wake-up calls and glorious reprisals of The Homework Wars. Moving into college has begun our transition from summer laze to school days.

The family has already started our re-entry into intellectual stimulation, as we have taken Lovie to college. She’s living away, and this was the first time I had a hand in moving into college.

*“No one will notice me if I stay still.”*

There were many trips to the store to buy supplies for Lovie before the big day. We bought bedding, we packed boxes of clothes. There were snacks for the dorm. Days leading up to Moving Day were spent organizing boxes and bags. On the magical day, we loaded up the car and hit the road for what would be Lovie’s home for the next three or four months, minus a few weekends here and there.

Family Outfits for the Day

When we were at Freshman Orientation, Wife stopped by the school store to purchase t-shirts for me, Lovie, and herself. People thought it would be a great idea if we wore the shirts while working on campus.

I wasn’t sure if I would find my shirt in time for our big day of having one less child to worry about – I mean, moving our precious child into college.

I had a small problem. My shirt had been commandeered by The Gaggle, and I informed Wife that I wasn’t sure if I would be able to find my shirt in time for our big day of having one less child to worry about – I mean, moving our precious child into college.

The Oppressed heard me talking to Wife and sprang into action. My youngest daughter, God bless her heart, grabbed a t-shirt out of my dresser and ran downstairs. She returned moments later with a homemade college t-shirt just for me. I would not be left out of the family-themed shirt ensemble, after all thanks to The Oppressed.

Getting to Work on the College Campus

Upon arriving at campus, we loaded up the available carts. The elevators are small and can only hold a couple of people plus the carts. I was willing to take one for the team and carried things up the stairs. Everything was taken out of the car and brought to the dormitory after a few trips. Some rearranging of the bunks and wardrobes were necessary to accommodate students and personal effects.

Lovie saw her roommates come in. She had met them before Moving Day. Wife and I had not. We briefly chatted with the roommates and their parents as they came into the dorm. After our work was done, we went out to get something to eat. We went back to the dorm to wish Lovie well and go home. The Oppressed left a note for her to read when she got settled in.

The family got into the car. There was a lot of room for us now that all of Lovie’s things had been taken out. We enjoyed the extra room as well as the air conditioning. Lovie’s dorm didn’t have central air unlike our home, and I’m wondering how our sensitive little creature is adapting to the third-world conditions (There is a fan in the window, nothing else). We returned home and rested our weary bodies from the stair-climbing and box-lugging that filled our day.

Our Daughter Called from College

Our services were required less than a week after bringing our dear daughter to her home in Academia. Some of her new housewares had fallen apart and needed to be replaced. I bring some of the children and Doggie to campus, as Lovie seems to think any animal in the house is her support animal. Children, Doggie, and I see her and drop off the needed wares. We say our hellos and goodbyes and head back home. There are crises to attend to back home, and I need to prepare for the next crisis on campus.

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When Your Child Loses a Stuffed Animal

We’re still trying to get back into the swing of things after our Washington D.C. trip. Laundry and dishes have piled back up. The children have moved on from days of walking and sightseeing to days of reading, writing and ‘rithmetic. I’ve moved back to my regimens of reading and writing.

Eight people returning from vacation means a lot of laundry. Lovie and The Oppressed are doing everything they can to stay on top of things and attend to the mountains upon mountains of dirty clothes.

The children brought their luggage and souvenirs back to their respective rooms and all of us, including me, are still going through what we brought home with us and making sure it’s in their proper places. This brings me to the crisis at hand. You see, The Oppressed is the very proud owner of two stuffed ducks, Sir Ducks-a-Lot and Quackers.

Missing Duck

Well, as she brought her stuff back to her room and got re-adjusted with her life at home and school, my youngest daughter noticed that one of the ducks was missing. The one that was missing just so happened to be the smallest of the two.

The Oppressed immediately went around the house asking all siblings if anyone has seen Quackers. Alas, no one has seen her precious duck. I wish to point out that Quackers is one of the newest additions to the bedroom of The Oppressed, so not only is Quackers new and not totally acclimated with the room or the rest of the house, Quackers is also small and scared, as mentioned before.

The “Missing” Poster

The Oppressed wasted no time in getting to work, not on picking up her room, of course, but in getting to work. She immediately made a poster to make everyone fully aware of the situation at hand, including a hand-drawn portrait of Quackers. She took a picture of Sir Ducks-a-Lot. More on that later.

She put the poster up on the refrigerator and pointed out the drawing of the duck to remind people what Quackers looked like, as well as the reward being offered for finding Quackers. That reward, originally $5, has since been raised to $5.50 and two snacks from her very own Easter basket. Again, if you are not aware of the gravity of the situation, my daughter will enlighten you.

“Missing” poster of Quackers. Note the increased reward and reminders of how scared and hungry he is.

The Picture

Back to the picture of Sir Ducks-a-Lot. Quackers is just a smaller version of SDL (I’m getting tired). The Oppressed has used this to her advantage. My daughter took a picture of SDL just in case the drawing of Quackers isn’t enough for people to go on. Also, the child has directed everyone’s attention to the refrigerator where the drawing and photo are. We hope everyone will study the drawing, the picture. She hopes everyone will take their own pictures and share them with friends, with neighbors. She hopes anyone who can help will join in her mission to bring a scared, lost duck home.

There is also a chance The Oppressed will be making a guest appearance on this website, as she is not confident that I can fully convey the magnitude and immediacy of this dire situation. Stay tuned for her message and for further developments on this story.

If you need help finding your child’s lost toy, or a replacement, visit lostmylovey.com to see if anyone has found it, or where you can purchase a new one. You can also visit multiple pages on Facebook for help with a lost friend.

When Your Child Loses a Stuffed Animal

Missing Duck

Well, as she brought her stuff back to her room and getting re-adjusted with her life at home and school, my youngest daughter noticed that one of the ducks was missing. The one that was missing just so happened to be the smallest of the two.

This bothered The Oppressed, who was immediately concerned for Quackers’ welfare. I explained to her that things would be alright. We’ll find Quackers. This is also an excellent opportunity to square things away in her room. I told her I was certain that Quackers would turn up as we put things away and tidied up her bedroom.

She was upset with me. I didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. I certainly didn’t understand what needed to be done. Time was of the essence, and we can’t waste it moving things around her bedroom (like she was supposed to do before Quackers went missing, anyway).

The “Missing” Poster

The Picture

A Father and Daughter Take a Little Day Trip

The Oppressed spent a weekend at my parents one time. It was originally meant as a girls’ weekend with a cousin who was close to her age. Unfortunately, the cousin wasn’t feeling well; so, it was just The Oppressed with her grandparents. It was a great time for her because she was getting the chance to spend time with her grandparents. My parents liked it for the same reason. Wife and I said to each other, “One down, five more to go.”

We met each other halfway between my house and my parents’ house. We had an early dinner together and then parted ways. The Oppressed kept in touch with me and Wife during the weekend, letting me know what they were doing.

We were also making plans for picking her up on Sunday and bringing her home. The Oppressed had been wanting to go to Newbury Comics for a long time, but we hadn’t been able to fit it into our schedule. Sunday seemed like the perfect day to go. We were taking a long drive, anyway. It would allow us to get something to eat, hit Newbury Comics, and talk about the weekend she had at her grandparents’. A road trip seemed like the perfect way to cover all of these things. As usual, things did not turn out as we planned.

Newbury Comics

We left my parents’ house in the middle of the afternoon. It was a Sunday, meaning that stores were going to close early. Needless to say, time was of the essence.

I haven’t lived in the area in a long time, but I still have a good idea of where things are. Still, we were on a schedule, and I didn’t want to waste any time and take the chance of taking too long and getting there after they closed. On top of that, getting to Newbury Comics sooner meant getting something to eat sooner, which meant we could take our time and not worry about having to rush things.

Exterior shot of a strip mall on a cloudy day with cars driving by. — *No Newbury Comics.*

I used my phone to find the closest store to us. It wasn’t too far from us, which meant my plan was unfolding in grand fashion. I plug the address into my GPS and we begin our first leg of our journey home. During the road trip, we talked about what her mom, her siblings, and I did during the weekend. We talked about the things she did during the weekend. It was a great weekend for her and a great ride for the both of us. While we ride and drive, I tell her to keep an eye open for a place she might like to stop at for dinner.

We see a ray of light shining down upon us as the interior is filled with heavenly sounds of a choir of angels.

The GPS leads us to the parking lot of a strip mall. I must say, I am a little disheartened at what I see, or I should say what I don’t see. There is no Newbury Comics. The Oppressed and I look at each other. It looks like we made this short drive for nothing. I do notice a storefront that may have been a former home to Newbury Comics. I suggest we stop inside and see what’s there.

Inside a store with shelves of books. Vinyl records are on the floor. — *Books and music as far as the eye can see. That’s the Beatles’ “Sgt. Pepper” to the left.*

We open the doors and what do we see? A ray of light shining down upon us as the interior is filled with heavenly sounds of a choir of angels. We see shelves upon shelves of books against the wall. Not far from the books are DVDs. In the middle of the floor are racks of CDs. It was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

The Oppressed and I walk around the music section of the store. She is interested in finding something from Queen and something from the Beatles (bless her heart). There are plenty of things to look at, not just in the music section. However, we have other things to do, like find something to eat and get back home where Wife is trapped with five other children. I ask The Oppressed where she would like to eat on this particular afternoon. She and I both noticed we passed a certain place not far from where we ended up purchasing our CDs. I’m not going to tell you the name of the place. You’ll find out why as we go along.

What’s for Dinner

The Oppressed and I agree to check out this particular place. I remind her that there are other places nearby for dining out, and we can even continue our road trip home and continue to look for another place to eat. This nice place appears to pass inspection with her, and we decide to enter and dine.

A tween girl looking back at a mounted flatscreen showing an NHL hockey game. — *Dinner and hockey. The day keeps getting better.*

There is a nice man who greets us upon entering. I’m going to call him “Rick”. Rick pulls two menus and leads us to our table. Upon sitting, we order drinks. Rick leaves to get our drinks. The Oppressed and I continue to talk about the weekend. There are plenty of things on the menu that look good and we’re both hungry. We start with an appetizer and continue to look at the entrées. A little more chatting. Soon, Rick returns with our appetizer, and we place our orders for dinner.

A tween girl posing with her wrap and french fries. — *Ready to eat dinner.*

Dinner is finished, and we both need to use the restroom before leaving. We’re both in the restroom for a long time. We’re discussing this as we walk back to the car.

“Good Lord,” I said. “What did I eat?”

“I don’t know,” The Oppressed answers, “But I had the same thing happen to me.”

“I was not well.”

The Oppressed said, “I think they gave us food poisoning.”

Plates of food, a wrap and fries, and home fries with rice and tostones.

And now you see why I didn’t want to tell you the specific name of where we ate. I assure my daughter we didn’t have food poisoning. We slide one of the new CDs into the stereo (Queen) and begin the final leg of our road trip home. Due to the detour to the store and the restaurant, we are taking a different route home then we usually take from my parents’ house. That’s alright, though. I don’t mind it, and neither does she.

Back Home

We get home just in time. Our tummies are hurting again. We go inside, say a quick, “hello” to Wife and the children, and race against time and our stomachs to the bathroom again. We both emerge from our respective bathrooms (I am continually thankful for having more than one bathroom in our home, and I don’t know how families survive in houses with just one bathroom.) and see Wife, who is in our room. She asks us about our day together. We tell her about everything we did.

We tell her about the road trip, about my parents and how they are, and we tell her about our shopping excursion, Queen, the Beatles, and dinner. Wife asks about dinner, considering we ran in different directions looking for a bathroom as soon as we walked in the house. I’m reminded of another time I had with The Oppressed and The Boy. On that day, the meal happened to be the highlight. You can read about that day here.

“Dad and I have food poisoning from the restaurant,” The Oppressed tells her.

I explain to Wife that we don’t have food poisoning. The Oppressed respectfully disagrees. We didn’t have any incidents after that evening, but my daughter has still reminded me that we got food poisoning from that restaurant. I have tried to explain otherwise, but have you ever tried to explain something to your kid?

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My Child’s Version of the Day they were Born

With all of the debate at my house, my child wanted to set the record straight about the day they were born.

My child saw what I had written about the day they were born and they felt the need to straighten some things out when it came to that day. I didn’t think that was necessary, but they insisted on lending their opinion on the events of that magical day.

So, first I already know my dad is lying because I know I was born the day after Thanksgiving and my mom was in labor for 50 hours, so they would have been in the hospital since 1 a.m. that morning and MY MOM seems to have a different story and they don’t go to my aunt and uncles for Thanksgiving.

Brave Daddy here. We did go to my brother’s and his wife’s for Thanksgiving until they moved.

Plus, I have relatives to back my story up and I have asked my dad if am adopted and he says no.

My children seem to think I can be a little different when it comes to things I say and do. I don’t know where they get this. Seems unfounded to me. Anyways, there always seems to be some different recollections when it comes to that magical Thanksgiving and for some reason, they always seem to come up around Thanksgiving.

He was in the room, so he knows I wasn’t adopted. Well I disagree. (Being adopted is not a bad thing)

My child didn’t want any of their adopted siblings to thing Wife and I loved them any less because they were adopted, so they put that last part in there.

The point is, some people in this house seem to remember the day differently. Whatever happened, and we all know who told the REAL version here, Wife and I were happy to be parents. In fact, you could say we were thankful (see what I did there?) What ever you’re thankful for, enjoy it. Happy Thanksgiving.

Larry’s last days

Trees at dusk. — *Trees living their best life.*

I’m sure you are aware of the loss we all experienced last year when we needed to have a tree removed from our property. If you are not aware of Larry the Tree and the memories he provided the entire family (The Oppressed), allow me to once again share the story of our beloved tree and the day he was taken away from us in a cruel and heartless decision made by Wife and me. Here is the story that honors his memory. Larry the Tree – Drink your juice (and Other Crimes Against Humanity) (brave-daddy.com)

The Oppressed continues to remind me of what happened to Larry and how he is in a better place, no thanks to her parents. I thought it would be nice if you got it straight from the fingers of my daughter. Here it is, the life and times of Larry in her own words.

My father thought I should write a story on his blog (I am The Oppressed). I decided I will write about the famous Larry The Tree (from the perspective of The Oppressed). Now to begin:

One day I was doing schoolwork and I heard my parents were hiring someone to kill my good friend Larry the tree. They told me he was dead but he was still standing and dead things can’t stand; not to mention they killed him on this birthday, Earth Day. They also said they’ve never heard of the tree being named “Larry”. Well, if they took the time to pay attention, they would know his name. It was brutal. I mean, watching your friend die is 100% not ideal. Not to mention the same day Larry was killed, a Barbie doll (named “Tom”) was buried after suffering injuries from a head ripping. Larry’s funeral was small. I put up a grave, put flowers down, and prayed. Only me and two of my friends were there. I wore a black dress.

This is the true story of Larry.

Larry the tree
April 7, 1966 – April 22, 2020
Last words: “I don’t want to die.”
(The birthdate and final words are accurate according to The Oppressed)