Dad is not as Stupid as he plays out to be.
Dad simply has less patience for any of this skating stuff than I do, so he merely plays dumb to avoid confrontation. He is well aware that the Moms of the Rink regard him largely as a clueless oaf like the men depicted in the Bounty Commercials, but I can assure you that this is not the case.
Dad knows that he must turn in a coupon, and I will most often have coupons ready. When I don't, he will frequently claim ignorance about the cost of ice. In this way, he will sometimes score a cheaper rate, or at the very least looks of sympathy for his oafish ways and a pat on the head. He then excuses himself to read a magazine.
Ladies, by letting him get away with this, by patting him on the head and sending him on his way, you're alienating half your potential volunteer force. The best conversations I have at the Rink are with the DADS. I've never had a Dad ask me what level Stitch is, or what jumps he can do, or who his coach is. The Dads ask, "He's yours? Oh, he's cool. How are the brownies at the concession stand?"
For the record, they are good with coffee.
Don't buy the Doofy Dad mythology!
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