Snowmen, skiers, the frostbitten – nothing warms them like a belly laugh courtesy the family-friendly winter dad jokes.

It started when I was 6. My dad interrupted Christmas to tell me THAT MY FRIGGIN’ GRANDMOTHER WAS DEAD. And the ghost stories begin.

I cannot wait to listen as she puts her head on my shoulder and recounts the entire Technicolor evening of dance — good and bad.

While I often joke about the mom-centric attitude of my children, it’s definitely started to wear this stay-at-home dad down.

The end of that old camper is a beginning for that journal I found in it. It shows me a past where I hoped for my boys’ future.