I’ve never really got my head around Father’s Day. I have two young kids, aged four and five months, so it should be an unalloyed pleasure. But for me it comes with a lot of baggage. Even the word ‘father’ is jarring. ‘Dad’ sounds better, and ‘daddy’ – when said by my four-year-old son – is sweeter than a Paul McCartney melody. On the other hand, ‘father’ is a word you have to wipe the cobwebs off before using. It’s so formal, I mainly hear it from newsreaders, doctors or Darth Vader. But this year it has dawned on me
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