My daughter thinks I’m a dork. This is not an entirely new concept for fathers of teenagers. In fact, it’s likely a pretty safe bet that most, if not all, teenagers think their parents are dorks.
But it seems like it’s only we dads who get saddled with the moniker. Has anybody, including a teenager, ever called a mom dorky?
I think not. Moms do not do dorky. That character trait appears exclusively reserved for dads. And never was it more on display last weekend during a trip down the shore with Younger Daughter.
Except, I didn’t know it. It appears my definition of what is dorky is different from that of a teenager who shares the same last name.
Walking along the boardwalk in Ocean City on a beautiful cloudless blue-sky day, the last official weekend of summer, the families were out in force. There were lots of dads with lots of potential for dorkiness.
As we walked along, we both spotted the scene of a young boy, maybe three years old, standing on a bench with his back to the ocean. The dad was standing behind the child while the mom was taking a picture of the two.
We hesitated and altered our route as to not walk between the picture taker and her intended target, just long enough to see the dad throw up two fingers behind the youngster’s head, giving him the rabbit ears for the picture.
After all, boys will be boys.
As Younger Daughter and I continued down the boardwalk, my eyes met the eyes of the other dad, and we smiled at each other, him with the satisfying grin of having just pulled one over on his kid without the kid knowing about and me with an approving nod acknowledging that given the same opportunity, I would have done the same thing. Not because it was dorky, but because it was a moment between father and son.
“Well done,” I said to the other dad as we walked by.
“Daaaaaddddd. You’re such a dork,” said Younger Daughter.
“What’s dorky about that?” I asked.
“Talking to people on the boardwalk you don’t know,” she said. “Especially when he was being goofy.”
Goofy I know. I appreciate goofy. What I appreciate more is being a dad.
But if that’s dorky as defined by Younger Daughter, I’m OK with that. I’ll be as big a dork as she thinks I am if it allows me endless opportunities to walk along the boardwalk with her at my side. And for just a moment, not a care in the world, with the ocean in my ear whispering, “Well done.”

Labels: Mike Morsch, Montgomery Newspapers, Ocean City, Outta Leftfield