STRINGER: Fatherhood is everything it's cracked up to be, and more

A perk of this sports editor gig is being able to pen holiday columns.

Thanksgiving, I've written 10-or-so. Christmas eve, 11 straight.

Fourth of July, I always have fun making American-themed lists.

Hell, I even wrote an opus to myself on my 30th birthday when I dumbly committed to running 30 miles in the face of 24-mile-per-hour winds.

But unquestionably my favorite holiday-themed columns have been my odes to John Mark Stringer and Mary Nell Stringer on Father's Day and Mother's Day.

As Tina Turner first belted out in 1989, they're "Simply the Best." Still are as they now live just 3 miles away in retirement.

But this year, those holidays hit differently. After all, my partner, Kristi Holley, made me a dad on May 6 of 2022. Life's been better ever since.

All apologies to last year's Father's Day, when Wyatt was simply a 9-pound paper weight of poop, pee and drool, this feels like my first true Father's Day -- kind of like how Christmas as a parent doesn't take shape until the kid is actually aware of Santa Clause and the meaning of the holiday.

That isn't to say Wyatt is aware that it's my day to be spoiled. He isn't. But the good news is at 13 months he's a ball of personality who, if you can picture it, gives me Bobcat Goldthwait/Bill Murray from "Scooged" vibes with the way his hairline is high in the front, long in the back.

And his personality is wonderful.

He smiles incessantly, the kind that's infectious and flirtatious and lights up a room. He puts everything in his mouth -- dirt and sticks, cups and phones, toys and rocks, straws and even sides of furniture. And everything water makes him happy. Floating in it, splashing it, drinking it, walking around the backyard pool as if its a track and he's Steve Prefontaine ... he's a water baby to the core.

And, so far, whether it be blissful ignorance or naivety, I haven't screwed him up. It took me 36 years to have a kid, 36 years to prepare for this moment only to be sitting in a hospital room googling "How to take care of a baby."

Thirteen months later, our bond is everything I could've hoped for and more.

I love that he loves the hot tub just as much as me, I love his laugh after launching him high above the pool. I love watching him flirt with every stranger that comments on his sunny disposition. I love that he gets lost in Disney movies, I love his fearlessness. I even love changing and dressing him -- I just can't get enough of that that denim, y'all.

But most of all, I love being his dad. Happy Father's Day, fellow dads! Keep killin' it.

This article originally appeared on Northwest Florida Daily News: STRINGER: Fatherhood is everything it's cracked up to be, and more