In every family, roles tend to fall into place whether we consciously assign them or not. Someone becomes the organiser, the feeder, the cuddler, the storyteller. Someone’s the “yes” person, someone else ends up being “ask your mum/dad.” And — almost inevitably — one of us becomes the fun parent.
And, if you’re reading this with a lukewarm cup of coffee in hand, mentally counting how many times you’ve said “No” today, you may have realised, like I did: you’re probably not that fun parent.
It’s not that I don’t try. I’ll chase them around the garden until I’m winded. I’ll do funny voices at bedtime. I’ve even attempted to dance to that awful frog song on YouTube more times than I’d like to admit. But despite my efforts, it’s usually someone else who gets the gleeful squeals, the “again, again!” shouts, and the breathless laughter.
And while I’m not above playing the villain in a game of superhero-tag, I sometimes feel like I’ve been typecast as the sensible, not-quite-as-fun supporting character. Like the dad equivalent of a character actor who always plays the same role: slightly tired, a bit sarcastic, and constantly tidying up.
The Realisation
It crept up on me slowly, that feeling. At first, I brushed it off. After all, someone has to make sure the dinner doesn’t burn, the baby doesn’t eat the crayons, and the bedtime routine stays vaguely on track.
But after a while, I noticed the pattern. When it was time for a game or a cuddle, they’d usually go to their mum. When it was time for a snack, a rule, or a brush with reality, that’s when I was summoned. I started to feel a bit like a living reminder of all the boring parts of life.
I remember one morning when I tried to join in a game of pirates. I’d barely sat down before one of them said, “No, you’re the captain that stays on the island.” Translation: “You’re not really part of the fun bit, Dad.” Harsh.
The Emotional Undercurrent
At first, I laughed it off. But it stuck with me. Because being “not the fun one” isn’t just about not getting to play — it’s about how your kids see you, and how you start to see yourself.
You begin to wonder: do they think I’m no fun? Do they even like me as much? Do they see me as the moaner, the nag, the one always saying “not now” or “maybe later”?
And then comes the guilt. The quiet sense that you’re doing your best to keep the family machine running, but in doing so, you’re missing out on being the source of joy. You’re the one changing the bedding after a night-time accident while someone else gets the sleepy snuggles. You’re the one saying “teeth first, then story” while someone else just reads the story.
You feel like you’re investing a lot, emotionally and practically — and not always getting the warm, fuzzy returns.
It’s Not a Competition (But It Feels Like One)
Of course, parenting isn’t a popularity contest. If it were, none of us would win for long — toddlers are fickle creatures and primary schoolers even more so. But that doesn’t stop the comparison. Especially when you’re the one enforcing screen time limits and your partner is inventing a dinosaur dance party.
We all want to be loved by our children. But we also want to be liked. And when your child lights up for someone else in a way they don’t for you, it can sting a bit more than you’d expect.
What Really Matters
What I’ve had to remind myself — repeatedly — is this: fun is fleeting, but feeling safe, understood, and loved lasts. And that’s the role I play, even if it comes wrapped in phrases like “time to tidy up” or “we’re leaving in five minutes.”
I might not be the first one they go to when they want to play, but I’m the one they seek out when they’re scared in the night. I’m the one who remembers the medicine, who fixes the broken toys, who listens when they’re upset but can’t explain why.
I’m the scaffolding. The safety net. The human version of structure and reassurance. And as much as kids love fun, they need that security I provide.
Fun in Our Own Way
And fun, as it turns out, doesn’t have to be big or loud. It doesn’t have to involve foam pits, glitter, or doing backflips off the sofa.
It can be shared jokes over the dinner table. Pretending to be grumpy about a tickle attack. Dancing terribly in the kitchen while making tea. Even letting them sit on your shoulders for the fifth time that day, just because it makes them feel ten feet tall.
Sometimes, the most memorable moments of joy come in your own, quieter way — and often when you least expect them.
So, am I the fun parent? Not always. But I’ve realised that’s okay. Parenting isn’t about who gets the loudest laughs. It’s about showing up, being consistent, and loving them fiercely — even when you’re saying “no” for the tenth time.
I’m still learning to let go of the idea that I have to be the most entertaining one in the room to be a great dad. Because the truth is, being present, patient, and dependable is its own kind of magic — even if it doesn’t come with a superhero cape or a round of applause.
And on the days when I do get a spontaneous laugh, or I manage to turn a chore into a game, or I’m told “you’re fun too, Daddy” — well, that’s the cherry on top.
