I’ve reached that age.
It’s an undisclosed, nondescript number at which fashion is no longer a player in my life game. It’s an age at which lead singers for bands I once blasted from stereo speakers as a teenager (Huey Lewis) now hocks … of all things … hearing aids.
You ought to see some of the ads served up on my Pandora station, for men of my age.
I might not be able to dunk a basketball (I could, on a 6-foot rim … okay, 5.5-foot rim), or do anything CrossFit, or – Hell – stay awake through consecutive episodes of Hawaii 5-0 after dinner. But I sure as Hell don’t need these supplements you’re pushing on me.
No, I can play goalkeeper (with a good defense, for several minutes), chuck a golf disc, and even rip spirals with my daughters and a Nerf ball. It just … requires an Ibuprofen chaser, strategically placed ice packs, and a half dozen or so F-words mumbled.
Save your snake oils and supplements, Google Chrome.
What I need on the tough days? Maybe a pair of drawers made of Superman’s cape.
Because there are rough days. Let’s be honest.
Camdyn disdains try-hard dads, the guys who bark out instructions onto the soccer field – from the parents’ side. The ones who go all-out when the ball is in. Age and skill level of his opponent matter little. No matter how many braces they need to hold them together.
Weekend warriors, they are, men in a ceaseless hunt to recapture glory days.
Here’s my advantage: I never had glory days. So playing time now? It’s all gravy. I still need Superman’s cape, or Spiderman’s mask, even Batman’s codpiece, for all the writin’, daddin’, disc golfin’, coachin’, dude in his 40s-in’ stuff I have to do.
I’m a .. dadlete, y’all.
Dadletes need support. At least a supportive fly. Plus moisture wicking and premium softness. Dad’s sensitive in spots, too. Russell Athletic has dads’ backs – or at least, our backsides, covered with Fresh Force performance underwear.
Attention bearded millennial dudes at boot camp, jumping up and down and running to and fro because a buff dude with a booming voice tells you to: You’re not the only athlete in town. We dads of Generation X? Our day isn’t over yet.
Quality underwear, like ginger snaps, golf discs, or a trusty (and rusty) Pontiac Grand-Am, should become more than mere tools of living. They should take on a life of their own, become muses. They had cosmic performances during yoga, after all.
Wearing kickass underpants is like knowing a bit of what Tony Stark’s life is as Ironman.
You tend to acquire confidence that belies your outer appearance. I felt as if cats and cows on the mat became a handstand scorpion. Thanks for that, Russell Athletic. Thank you too, for the extra 17 or so yards off the tee box in disc golf.
And thank you for the extra zip in my delivery as a soccer coach.
Under over-sized soccer shorts and untucked V-neck T-shirts, paired with loose-fit slacks and dress shirts with worn cuffs, you made me feel … Like dancin’.
It began with a simple morning round of disc golf – just me, my muse underwear, and a near ace on No. 7. (The disc hit the dirt and nearly bounced into the catcher!) As is my routine, I headed to work to shower and get to writin’.
Only, when I got to work, I discovered I forgot my underwear (for the 237th time.)
Passing the sniff test
The choices were simple: Go commando, or call on a pair for a second tour of duty. Fresh Force underwear is armed with intellifresh, technology which “invisibly guards against unwanted bacteria that causes odors so your underwear stays fresher longer.”
I actually gave them the sniff test, friends.
They passed with flying colors. I ventured into the day with recycled underpants, fresh (or not so) off a morning of high-humidity disc golf. They rose masterfully to the occasion, just the lift in just the right places for a day chock full of writing and dadding.
I even followed through with an ambitious outfit for the day, and was compared to everything from an artist to a beatnik to Samuel L. Jackson.
What I loved
The actual living difference these draws made in my day. I felt … invincible. Don’t laugh. When you’re cradled and supported like this, anything feels possible. It’s like driving a Maserati after toiling around in a crappy purple Scion.
What I didn’t love
That these didn’t extend from my ankles to my chin. I wish I could have had that feeling everywhere, and in my soul, too. To have it just where it was kind of reminded me of owning a great restaurant in a crappy neighborhood.
They said it
I asked my kids to share some of those “remember when dad did this?” moments. Here’s what they said:
Madison, age 19
We were leaving to school and dad was on the porch. As we were pulling away his pants fell down. He waved and then walked back in the house with his pants around his ankles.
Hayden, age 16
Remember when dad freaked out because he thought he broke my arm at Lazy 5 Ranch when he ran into a pole and broke the van?
Camdyn, age 12
One time, dad was driving the car and he did the Dab like Von Miller did in the Super Bowl!