Reflections of a Dad #1

Doughnut Fridays

Fatherhood is made up of small, fleeting moments—the kind that don’t always feel significant at the time but, looking back, define the journey. Reflections of a Dad is a new weekly series where I revisit memories from my own fatherhood experience—stories of laughter, lessons, and the little things that matter most. Every Wednesday, I’ll share a snapshot from the past, a moment that stuck with me, and what it taught me about being a dad.

This week, I’m starting with a simple tradition that has become one of my favorites: Doughnut Fridays.

Every Friday, just as the sun begins to warm the city streets, my daughter and I set out on our weekly excursion. It's nothing crazy or elaborate—just a short walk to the local bakery for doughnuts.

At three years old, my daughter approaches our Friday tradition with a mix of familiarity and fresh excitement. As we push open the bakery door, the mild sweetness of dough and sugar greets us.

The same bell chimes above our heads.

And the same friendly face behind the counter offers a nod of recognition.

We make our way to the display case, a process that's never rushed. My daughter takes her time, pressing her nose against the glass, her breath creating small clouds as she surveys the options.

There's no hurry here. We let the minutes stretch out, savoring the luxury of unhurried choice. The selection process is as much a part of our ritual as the eating itself.

Some weeks, she gravitates towards bright colors.

One with electric blue frosting, or an ungodly amount of sprinkles.

Other times, it's the classics that call her name.

A simple glazed or a chocolate-frosted ring.

Once the choice is made and the doughnut carefully placed on a plain white paper plate, we find our usual spot.

It's nothing special, just a small table by the window, but for 30 minutes every week, it's ours.

My daughter climbs onto her chair, knees bent, feet tucked under her. I watch as she approaches her doughnut with the seriousness of a scientist examining a new specimen.

The first bite is always the most ceremonial.

Sometimes there's a moment of hesitation, a brief consideration of where to start. Then, inevitably, she dives in. Frosting smears across her cheek, sprinkles scatter across the table, and the quiet of the morning is punctuated by her soft hums of appreciation.

As she eats I notice how her small hands have grown more dexterous over the months, how she's learned to navigate the messiness with increasing skill.

I see the way her eyes crinkle with pleasure at a particularly sweet bite and the slight furrow of her brow as she concentrates on not dropping a single crumb.

We don't always talk much during these sessions. Sometimes we sit in comfortable silence, the clink of cups and the low murmur of other patrons providing a gentle backdrop.

Other times, she'll regale me with stories.

Disjointed tales of adventures or elaborate fantasies involving her stuffed animals and the adventurous lives they lead.

I listen, savoring her words as much as she savors her doughnut.

As our time winds down, we engage in the usual clean-up ritual.

Napkins wipe sticky fingers and faces, and any fallen sprinkles are carefully gathered and disposed of.

We thank the staff and make our way back out onto the street, rejoining the flow of the day.

Walking home, her small hand in mine, I often reflect on these mornings.

They're not flashy or Instagram-worthy.

They won't make headlines or change the world.

But in their quiet constancy, they've become a cornerstone of our relationship, a shared experience that's ours alone.

These Friday mornings teach me about the value of routine and the comfort found in repetition. They remind me that parenting isn't always about grand gestures or milestone moments. More often, it's about showing up, week after week, for these small rituals that shape our days and our bonds.

So yes, we'll do this again next Friday.

And the Friday after that.

We'll keep showing up.

We’ll keep choosing doughnuts.

We’ll keep wiping frosting from smiling faces.

And we’ll keep making memories.

Because in these simple, sweet moments, we're building something far more lasting than a sugar rush. We're crafting memories, strengthening bonds, and finding joy in the beautifully ordinary rhythm of our days.