For the new generation of sensitive fathers, there's nothing scarier than a kid who loves monster trucks.

-By Jeff Gordinier
-Photograph by Peter Rad

Does the thought of playing street hockey with your 5-year-old son give you heart palpitations? Talk through your anxieties in the comment section.

Photograph by Peter Rad

The other day I took my daughter to a performance of The Sound of Music. It was just the kind of outing that's supposed to elicit a beleaguered, sitcom-ready eye roll from the prototypical suburban dad. I should, according to custom, dread the "do-re-mi." I should prefer to be at home watching the play-offs, or out on an autumnal field tossing the pigskin back and forth with a few fellas from the office. But no—the quaint pleasures of the Von Trapp family were right up my cobblestoned alley. I like any task that keeps me from having to play golf, I'm bored to distraction by professional sports, and if there's anything I do dread, it's that moment when one of the Briefcase Bobs on the morning commuter train corners me with "So, did ya watch the game last night?"