Best flavored whiskeys for Father's Day, including ... salty watermelon
Best flavored whiskeys for Father's Day, including ... salty watermelon
Don't overthink it. Flavored whiskeys are totally fine.
Sometimes you need a break from big, barrel-influenced flavors. One of the truest pleasures in life is an occasional coffee mug filled with ice and Fireball. And though Fireball remains the oft-criticized king when it comes to mashed-up whiskey, there are several contenders for its throne.
Thus, I'm kicking off our Father's Day week-long whiskey extravaganza with these gateway spirits to the harsher (but rewarding) world of bourbons, ryes and Scotches. Let's give some pre-mixed cocktails and various infused whiskeys a test drive and see what's worthy of drinking (or gifting). These are the flavored whiskeys I drank this year, ranging from forgettable to "not bad."
Jack Daniel's & Coca-Cola ready-to-drink cocktails
I was concerned about the carbonation in a pre-mixed cocktail. Fortunately, this can roars open with the familiar crack of a typical Coke and pours with the big, quickly dissipating head you'd expect from the unadulterated thing. I'm opting for the vanilla here, because that's always been my personal favorite.
The smell off the top is more vanilla extract than vanilla syrup, owing to the seven percent alcohol by volume within. It's still appealing, but you know right away this isn't your typical midday caffeine boost. In fact, there's no caffeine at all -- reasonable, given the Kyle-shaped crater Four Loko left outside frat houses across the nation. (Which Kyle? Judging by the puka shell fragments around the rim, it was Kyle S. Services were held at the Quiksilver in the mall. Not the good one.)
The first sip is boozy, but never burns. The whiskey works naturally with the vanilla, heightening the minor flavor you'd get from Jack Daniel's barrel aging. It works in sequences, going Coke-Jack-Coke, leaving you with sugary sweetness and carbonation to finish each sip. That's a bit rich, but it's also possible I'm not used to full-bodied Coca-Cola after spending the last two decades drinking whatever sugar-free version they had (I write about booze for a living, I need to conserve calories where I can).
The downside is the lack of flexibility. This is a little too strong to taste primarily like Coke. It's a little too weak to taste like the cola and bourbons I'd make for myself at home. Jack Daniel's is going for a sweet spot with the greatest possible appeal and probably hit it. But there's a benefit to being able to mix your drink your way -- especially with a two-step cocktail like this.
Even so, it's better than expected. The soda is full-bodied, the carbonation is crisp and the whiskey is apparent but not overpowering. Ol' Jacky D could have half-assed this one. He didn't.
Five Springs Vanilla Maple Infused Bourbon
The bottle is mysterious. We don't know what the ingredients are, what the origin of the infused flavors are, if there's been any color added or much else. We do get that it's 70 proof and from Bardstown, Kentucky, which is a nice start (there is a QR code on the neck. I am a lazy man, so I'm just gonna jump in instead).
It smells like a fancy, boozy waffle. It tastes... like a boozy waffle. I have no idea what the aging on this is, but it's tremendously smooth and zero burn to speak of. That also means it's not especially complex. It's a scoop of ice cream on top of a warm stack of pancakes, not quite decadent but still very much leaning into its dessert roots.
That sweetness is the headliner, but you get some roasted malt and a little oak later in the sip. That reminds you you're dealing with a little booze, though it doesn't feel like it clocks in at 70 proof. There's a little cinnamon lingering underneath but, yeah, the bottle promises vanilla and maple. The spirit delivers vanilla and maple. Heaps and heaps of it.
It's lovely to sip over ice. It lacks the spice and snappy finish of a Fireball, but it's still an easy win.
Duke & Dame Salted Caramel Whiskey
I like a little salt in my whiskey. Granted, that's normally from a bit of sea spray in a coastal Scotch, but hey, I'm open minded. Same with the caramel; it's not too much of a stretch to bring these two whiskey-related flavors to the forefront. But it might be a stretch to lean heavily on them, because a little dab will do when it comes to either.
The smell from the top of the pour (over ice) is like a Werther's Original hard candy. It's familiar in a 99 cent mini bottle sort of way. That's not necessarily a bad thing -- some of those cheap lil weirdos are awesome -- but that's where your mind goes.
OK, so it smells... artificial. It tastes sweet up front, but the salt clocks in toward the end to help the finish clock in at not quite dry, but not as sloppy as you'd expect. There's a little warmth befitting a 70 proof spirit -- Duke & Dame doesn't hide its booze as well as some of the others on this list -- but there's nothing you'd consider a burn.
That gives it utility as a change-of-pace sipper or a chilled shot. There isn't much do it besides caramel up front and a little salt in the back. But that's fine; you're not drinking it for depth and complexity. You're drinking it because it's easy and fun. That's probably not gonna impress your boss or rich friends, but it's still nice.
Mash & Mallow S'mores Whiskey
Well, we did it. We finally made the South Park Civil War reenactment liquor a reality. Granted, Mash & Mallow *isn't* S'mores Schnapps or 151 proof, but what possibly could be?
Regardless, there's potential here -- the oaky, warm base of a bourbon could bring a little snap and balance to the sweet-on-sweet of a s'more. The smell off the top leans into this -- there's a little smoke, a little marshmallow and some graham cracker elements that... sorta come across as stale.
I'm sipping this one over ice, which helps space out the big flavors within and thin out a denser spirit. And with some ice, this is actually pretty decent. There's a sweetness that lingers long after it leaves your lips, but you do get a little charred marshmallow and cracker before getting there. Despite what's effectively a blank check to dial up the boozy burn at the end in a flavored whiskey, Mash & Mallow never tastes like a 70 proof spirit. In terms of sting, it's closer to a 30 proof Rumchata than, say, a pull off a cheap Fireball knockoff.
Your tolerance will come down to how much sweet you can handle -- and how much hangover you're willing to risk the next day, since I have to think this will take a ghastly toll. Mash & Mallow is a dumb idea executed smartly. It's nice to sit and sip with. It's a remarkably easy shooter. It's an easy win to bring to a tailgate. Despite all the ways this could have gone wrong, Mash & Mallow found a way to do it right.
Old Smoky Whiskeys
Old Smoky is best known for its moonshine, but the Tennessee-based distiller is honing in on that Fireball market for chilled shots that don't really taste like whiskey. I gave three of their new-ish offshoots a try, to varying effect.
Salty Watermelon:
The mint chocolate chip cream was the first Ole Smoky I drank -- passed around as a chilled shot during March Madness. But salty watermelon got the call to be the first one I reviewed because, well, salty watermelon. That's a hook right there. A whiskey that tastes like a summer cookout? Alright, I'm in.
I'm drinking this (and all of these) over ice. With all respect to Ole Smoky, I feel like this lovely bottle does not clamor for the strict adherence of drinking it neat. Even with the ice, it smells absolutely potent with watermelon candy odors and a nice little ring of brine. It's incredibly appealing.
And, yep, this is like drinking candy. The watermelon washes out any of the oak or mash. Which is fine, because the label assures me the lovely mahogany of the bottle is the result of caramel coloring. So that artificial flavor is doing a lot of work, but it's not like you didn't know what you were getting into. You're drinking salted watermelon whiskey from a moonshine company.
There's a little harshness underneath, but that slips away under the distinct impression you're drinking a thin, boozy Jolly Rancher. That is a compliment. It is not good, but it is great.
Salty Caramel
Well, this one smells half like melted Snickers and half like... well, some off-brand flavored booze mini bottle I crushed in college or far too long after college to proudly admit. It's aggressively chemical and sweet. There's a bit of a maple syrup/antifreeze vibe that wafts through the room. It's a lot.
Even with ice, it's a bit syrupy. With the caramel in tow there's a certain melted ice cream vibe in play. Which would probably go great in a big, boozy shake. On the rocks, it's overpowered and much less enjoyable than the salty watermelon.
You start off with some low key sugar (substitute). Then, wham, that's a lot of caramel flavoring all at once. It's like pouring the crumbs from a box of Fiddle Faddle into your mouth, except with a little boozy aftertaste. It's probably fine as a shot, but might be a tough mixer in anything but a dessert drink.
Mint Chocolate Chip Cream
I love a good, dumb dessert shot. Living in Wisconsin has led me to Travis Hasse's pie liquors (which originated at the Missouri Tavern, one of the best bars in the state). This one, pouring thick out of the freezer and in need of refrigeration after opening, lends all the promise of melted ice cream.
It smells like a two scoop cone dropped on the sidewalk on a hot summer day. Before the ants arrive, naturally. The first sip is, yep, melted ice cream. There's a little bit of spice toward the end, but nothing that would really tip you off to the booze inside until you get to a slightly warm aftertaste. It's minimal -- this is a 35 proof spirit, after all -- but it's there.
The drink is dense and sweet and, honestly, a lot. That's a plus if you're looking for a quick dessert shot or adding it to a shake. In a cocktail it's a tougher sell. That aftertaste coats your tongue with sugary sweetness and artificial flavor, weighing you down afterward.
If you've got a sweet tooth? It's probably not a problem. But it's a lot to handle as a sipper.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Yahoo
5 hours ago
- Yahoo
Tasting 100-year-old food: The good, the bad and the dusty
I gathered some of the most iconic unopened food items on the planet — some over a hundred years old. From a 1940s Coke to a 1990s petrified Twinkie, I spent over $16,000 collecting forgotten snacks and canned chaos from every decade of the past century. My friend Parsa joined me for the taste test, though there were moments he probably regretted that decision. Based on our experience, definitely don't try this at home. We kicked things off with food from the 1920s — an era when canned goods and preserved items were everywhere, mainly because fresh produce was limited. Cars were still new, and shelf-stable food was revolutionary. The almond paste required a small battle to open, and chunks of it shot out like a sticky grenade. It smelled like molasses, not almonds. The can was practically disintegrated, so it was clear that it had not been fully sealed shut in years. Too unsafe to eat, but it smelled nice and the packaging was eye-catching. The honey, on the other hand, looked well-aged and tasted incredible — until it numbed my mouth. That freaked Parsa out. He started panicking about flushing it out with water, which made me more nervous than I wanted to admit. While it tasted great and nothing bad happened to me, I definitely won't be eating this again. If I were in the 1920s, this honey would hate to see me coming. I also purchased cloves, a popular spice during this era. The cloves still smelled like Christmas, and to the bare eye, looked brand new. The wheat-based supplement called Imperial Granum that I also found came with instructions inside of it, with some pretty outdated information. It was wild holding paper that old — and even crazier reading the directions on how to feed it to a baby. In the 1930s, the Great Depression reshaped America's diet. People leaned heavily on affordable, shelf-stable items like crackers, porridge and syrup powders to survive. The penny drink, similar to a modern-day Kool-Aid, turned water into a suspiciously purple hue, while giving it a slight fizz. It tasted like something brewed in a chemistry lab, not a soda shop. There were also chunks of the powder that wouldn't dissolve, no matter how much stirring I did. I'm one of what seems to be the few people who love Grape Nuts. The 1930s version of Grape Nuts smelled like an old attic and looked like mouse food, leaving me thankful to be in the 2020s. Surprisingly, the Quaker Grits and Jiffy Porridge looked totally fine but unleashed a wave of dust when opened. Most of the food here wasn't scary — it was just bland and ancient. The 1940s were defined by World War II and food rationing. People got creative, substituting sweet vegetables like carrots for sugar since it was so hard to find and used powdered eggs for breakfast just to stretch meals a little further and save fresh animal products for important, special occasion meals. I wanted to know if an 80-year-old Coke would still be fizzy. To my disbelief, it was. I lost a bet with Parsa and had to admit defeat. As for the flavor, well, we both immediately spit it out. It tasted nothing like the Coke we have today, but it's probably from sitting in a bottle for 80 years. The vintage Kool-Aid from this era dissolved and came alive with color — until I tasted it. It was seriously sour. I tried to find Kool-Aid from every decade to compare the evolution, and this was the oldest package I could get my hands on. In the 1950s, convenience food exploded. TV dinners, casseroles and neon-colored desserts became staples in post-war America. Jell-O completely ruled this decade. We also saw a rise in fast food chains during this decade, including the start of McDonald's, Burger King, Pizza Hut and more. Confetti popcorn was a popular item, looking like a circus in a jar. Once popped, it was plain white and totally stale. The colored shells were just marketing. Honestly, my expectations for this were low, but I was completely surprised that the kernels popped normally. We tried vintage Jell-O, but it refused to set. Canada Dry had gone flat, but 7-Up still held a crisp fizz. This was the era of TV dinners and bright branding, and you could feel food getting more fun — but also more fake. In the 1960s, people still wanted fast, colorful meals. Instant soups, freeze-dried meals and fun packaging were everywhere. Color TVs were becoming the new normal and food advertisers worked to make their products super colorful for the full effect on television. I found a can of the classic Campbell's cream of celery soup, a popular pick in this decade. It was a horror show, to say the least. It stained my cutting board, smelled like decay and was unrecognizable upon opening. Golden butter candies were a hot commodity back then, and looked like literal chunks of gold. They looked and smelled perfect, as if they were brand new. I loved to see the transition in marketing and packaging for Grape Nuts since we last tried them in the 1930s category. Just in this example, you can see how brands began to use more eye-catching packaging as a way to bring in new consumers. The red color also popped on television more than a lighter hue of yellow and blue would, grabbing the attention of viewers better. This was just the beginning of the revolution in food marketing. In the 1970s, branding became everything. Characters like Mr. Peanut, the Kool-Aid Man and colorful cereal mascots dominated packaging. Microwaves and canned goods ruled the kitchen. This decade felt like food entered its first real marketing boom. Bright labels, mascots with catchphrases and the promise of "instant everything" defined the experience. We started with an old-school Coke bottle that only cost five cents in its day, but I paid $200 for it. It fizzed just a little, like a soda trying to remember what it used to be. We tried maple syrup next, only to learn it wasn't maple at all — just sugar syrup with a fancy label. Still, it tasted perfect, which kind of annoyed me. By the 1980s, indulgence was the trend. People wanted sweet, deep-fried and convenient treats. Fast food continued to boom, and microwave snacks became essential. This decade had some hits — and major misses. The funnel cake mix worked like magic. All you needed to do was add water to the packaging, shake it up and pour it into hot oil. It fried up normally as if it were a freshly made batter. The olive oil from this era, on the other hand, looked and smelled like it belonged in a car engine. Whatever chemicals and ingredients in the olive oil bottle separated at one point, leaving a solid white settlement on the bottom and a nearly clear oil on top. Star Wars was a giant franchise at this time, at its peak of popularity. The Star Wars-branded fruit snacks were once colorful, distinctive shapes. But now, they were all just black blobs, except the green ones. It seems like the packaging color dyed the gummies darker. Count Chocula cereal still smelled like chocolate, but like someone left it in a dusty attic. Still looks super similar to how it's made today, which is pretty cool. I think I'll stick to the fresh boxes now, but I love seeing how some food staples have remained iconic for decades like this. One thing I noticed throughout this exploration is that a lot of items don't have safety seals. In a world where nearly everything has one now, it was wild to open things up and just have them be unsealed. While it would be easier if things didn't have a seal nowadays, it's certainly safer to have them. The 1990s were the snack generation. Every brand had a mascot, a color and a jingle. Lunchables, Go-Gurt and Gushers turned every kid into a mini foodie. I was born in this decade, and that foodie culture clearly never left me. And yes, we didn't dare open the Michael Jordan Wheaties box. It is too sacred. The Lifesaver gummies have always been a hit in my book. In the '90s, they were booming in popularity. The tropical flavor is my favorite, so I was excited to see what they looked like in the '90s. Let's just say, my disappointment was obvious. How these turned black, I will truly never know or understand. We also opened Skittles from 1995 — they fused into one massive rainbow block. The lemon chiffon cake, originally from this decade, rose into a dense, springy volleyball. It smelled like eggs, and probably wasn't safe — but the cake mix still worked. Orbitz was a lava lamp in a bottle. I remember it tasting a lot better as a kid, but honestly, that could be because it's almost 30 years old. The 2000s were when the internet started influencing food. Viral recipes, snack fads and early YouTube food content were all beginning to take shape. We entered the 2000s with Lipton Cup-a-Soup and Chef Boyardee. I tried the Chef Boyardee, and it was clearly expired — one bite was enough. The soup, on the other hand looked radioactive. I hesitated, but curiosity almost got the better of me. Almost. I stayed strong and didn't taste it, thanks to Parsa who knocked some sense into me. Then there was the petrified Twinkie. It cut like a rock, and I handled it with gloves. It looked like a fossil. It was sold to me as "petrified," which is the same word they use for dinosaur bones. Honestly, I'm no archeologist, but it seemed pretty close to a dinosaur bone. Dry, hard and somehow dusty. The 2010s were peak snack culture. Nutella became a food group. Coconut water exploded. Brands started marketing snacks as meals — and we all bought in. Nutella ruled this decade. Nutella even gave me a jar with my name on it, and it's my most prized possession... besides family, of course. Chips like Takis and Doritos also blew up online. Parsa pointed out the Lay's chip bags held less than the bags we saw in earlier decades. So far, the 2020s have offered hyper-engineered snacks. From high-protein cookies to seaweed snacks, modern food is optimized for taste, marketing and endless snacking. Modern snacks are also engineered to be addictive, now more than ever in my opinion. Flavor-blasted Goldfish hit harder than anything from the '90s. Chicken chips, moon cheese, seaweed snacks, low-sugar candies, protein cookies… these aren't just snacks — they're edible tech. Present-day food is all about modifications for health, while still enjoying the flavor of it all. This experiment was honestly a battle of the packaging styles – some foods survived perfectly. Others turned to black goo or fossilized bricks. But across 100 years, the 1990s felt like magic. Lunchables, Gushers, Go-Gurt — it wasn't healthy, but it was unforgettable. It's probably because that decade is the most nostalgic for me. Someone who grew up in the 1940s might feel totally different from how I did about the almond paste or Imperial Granum. That's the beauty of food: everyone has a personal connection to something, and no matter how stale or petrified it gets, it will still give you that heartwarming, nostalgic feeling, edible or not. And if I had to eat from one decade forever? I'd take the present day, although I'll always miss the one with powdered candy tattoos, fake cheese and way too much neon. Want to see me taste these in action? Check out my video below:
Yahoo
12 hours ago
- Yahoo
Are dads doing enough? What the data tells us about the state of modern fatherhood.
As Father's Day approaches, American dads insist they're doing a lot more parenting than the men who raised them, according to a new Yahoo News/YouGov poll. Some dads even claim they're doing more than the women they're parenting with. Yet the survey of 1,560 U.S. adults also taps into the complexities and contradictions of contemporary fatherhood, revealing that even the most egalitarian dads might see themselves in ways that don't quite match up with how others see them. Their partners included. I know a little something about this. One of my duties as national correspondent for Yahoo News is to collaborate on our monthly polls with YouGov, a leading public-opinion firm. I write the questions, then analyze and report on the results. At the same time, my wife and I are trying our best to help our two kids — a 9-year-old girl and an 8-year-old boy — grow up to be good people. Like many other millennial parents — I just turned 43 — we aspire to contribute equally to that effort. And so I figured Father's Day would be as good a time as any to ask my fellow dads some of the questions I'm always asking myself. How much are we really doing these days? And is it enough? Gender roles are a perennial topic in the parenting world, and the general consensus is that even though more opposite-sex couples than ever believe in 50/50 parenting — and even though dads have become more involved over the years — moms still do most of the domestic labor. According to a 2023 study by the Pew Research Center, for example, wives in so-called egalitarian marriages — that is, couples where each partner earns about the same amount of money — still spend more than twice as much time on housework than their husbands, and almost two hours more per week on caregiving, including tending to children. 'Egalitarian' husbands, meanwhile, spend three-and-a-half more hours per week on 'leisure activities' than their wives. Yet there may be more to the data than meets the eye, at least based on the results of the new Yahoo News/YouGov poll. For one thing, nearly two-thirds of American dads (63%) now say they spend more time with their kids than their fathers spent with them — and a full 37% describe that generational difference as 'significant.' Dads feel like they're putting in the hours and making progress. What's more surprising, however, is that a third of fathers (34%) also say they carry more than half of their family's "mental load," while another four in 10 (39%) say they shoulder about half. Combined, that's roughly three-quarters of dads who believe the balance is either 50/50 or skewed in their direction. In contrast, just 28% of dads admit to bearing less than half (14%) or none (4%) of their family's mental load. It's fair to say those numbers contradict what researchers have found — and what most moms would tell us if we asked them the same questions about the fathers in their lives. When I shared the poll with my wife and asked how she would answer for me, we agreed on everything — except mental load. And when I told her how many dads seem to believe they shoulder at least half the mental load, she scoffed. My sense is that this disparity reveals a lot about the state of dads today. For the record, I don't really think I take on more of the mental load than my wife — not as the term is typically defined. But I also think the tasks we typically define as 'mental load' fail to fully capture what dads tend to contribute. Here's how the poll put it: 'Mental load refers to the cognitive and emotional effort involved in managing and coordinating household tasks, responsibilities and relationships. As a father, how much of your family's mental load do you believe you carry?' Again, nearly three out of four dads say they do half or more of this invisible labor — these hidden forms of care. Yet when asked which specific parenting responsibilities they 'regularly take on,' relatively few fathers with children aged 18 or younger pick things like 'make the kids' doctor appointments' (36%), 'sign up the kids for camps/school activities/lessons' (26%), 'schedule playdates with the kids' friends' (18%), 'volunteer for school activities' (15%) or 'book babysitters/child care' (10%) — i.e., the classic mental load stuff. Instead, these dads are much more inclined to say they "play with the kids" (72%), "help with homework" (54%), "take the kids on outings" (52%), 'put the kids to bed' (44%) and 'make dinner' (42%). So it's not like dads are deluded. When asked point-blank about their role — Who are your kids closer to? Who spends more time parenting? Who would your kids' school call first? — a majority of fathers answer either 'me' or 'it's about equal.' But an even larger majority answer either 'it's about equal' or 'their mother.' In other words, dads understand that the parenting scales still aren't perfectly balanced. Why, then, do so many dads seem to think that we're carrying more of the mental load than we get credit for? My guess is that we consider that category to be a little more capacious than our partners do. For the initial draft of the Yahoo News/YouGov Father Day's poll, my editors — both moms — floated a fairly narrow set of options for the 'parenting responsibilities' question: booking babysitters, volunteering at school, making doctor appointments and so on. I responded with some additional choices that 'might capture more of what most dads do': playing with the kids, going on outings, cleaning up after dinner, etc. I also told my editors that 'in general, I think mental load conversations miss things like this (even if they are more about household management than parenting, per se): take care of the house, take care of the yard, take care of the car, take care of the garbage, take care of the finances. We didn't end up asking dads about those duties. But looking back, I can't help but wonder if they would have polled even higher than, say, playing with the kids — and if they were the kinds of responsibilities our dad respondents had in mind when assessing their own share of the mental load. For me, I think the answer is yes. In 2010, I wrote an essay for Newsweek explaining why marriage mattered so much to me; it was a direct rebuttal to a piece by two of my female colleagues about why the institution is 'quite simply, no longer necessary." I agreed with my coworkers that all of marriage's 'antiquated ancillary benefits — its grubby socioeconomic justifications' — no longer really applied. But that, I argued, was 'the point.' 'Dustin and I are not 'getting anything' out of this deal,' I explained. 'Or at least we're not getting what previous generations of men and women were conditioned to expect. I'm not getting a cooking, cleaning, child-rearing machine. She's not getting a bringer-home of the bacon. I clean. Both of us cook. Sometimes, Dustin earns more money than I do. Sometimes she doesn't. We both go to work every day. We both have careers. And when we have children, we'll both take turns staying home to raise them. 'In other words,' I continued, 'our roles within the relationship are not defined by gender. They're defined by who we are as people. … In a world where the practical reasons for marriage no longer apply, the only reason left is love.' Fifteen years and two kids later, nearly every word of that essay still rings true to me. I do all of the laundry — and almost all of the cleaning. She packs lunches; I make dinner. She works longer hours. I drop off the kids at school in the morning, then pick them up in the afternoon. I coach their soccer teams. She plays with them more. We both read books at bedtime. But if I'm being honest with myself, our 'roles within the relationship' are still somewhat 'defined by gender.' As my wife was quick to point out when I shared the mental load results with her, she's the one who makes the doctor appointments, schedules the playdates, books the babysitters and signs up for summer camps. 'OK,' I said. 'But what about all the 'invisible labor' I do?' I mentioned the finances, the house, the yard, the car, the garbage. 'That doesn't have anything to do with parenting,' she responded. 'It's household management,' I responded. 'Someone has to do it.' 'But someone would have to do it even if we didn't have kids,' she said. I think we both have a point here. I feel like I'm doing about half of the hands-on parenting, plus a bunch of hidden work that keeps our lives running smoothly. She feels like she's doing about half of the hands-on parenting, plus a bunch of hidden work that keeps our kids' lives running smoothly. We've gravitated toward these roles — mine indirectly related to parenting, hers directly — because of gender. Or, more specifically, because of gender expectations. The truth is, I don't feel judged for not volunteering at school, or not packing a particularly healthy lunch, or not hosting a playdate. My wife does. She even judges herself. As a dad, I tend to feel OK about how much I do. As a mom, she tends to feel guilty for not doing more. We've inherited and internalized different standards of what it means to be a parent — and hers are higher. That's hard to shake. Egalitarian dads might think they're shouldering half of the mental load, or more. But as hard as we're lifting, most of us still don't know what that feels like. __________________ The Yahoo News survey was conducted by YouGov using a nationally representative sample of 1,560 U.S. adults interviewed online from May 22-27, 2025. The sample was weighted according to gender, age, race, education, 2024 election turnout and presidential vote, party identification and current voter registration status. Demographic weighting targets come from the 2019 American Community Survey. Party identification is weighted to the estimated distribution at the time of the election (31% Democratic, 32% Republican). Respondents were selected from YouGov's opt-in panel to be representative of all U.S. adults. The margin of error is approximately 2.9%.
Yahoo
20 hours ago
- Yahoo
This 'surprisingly accurate' DNA kit is a cool last-minute Father's Day gift idea — and it's on sale on Amazon Canada
Still shopping for a Father's Day gift? No judgement here — we know how busy things can get. If you're looking for a thoughtful last-minute gift idea, you might want to check out Amazon Canada. They've got hundreds of items that will still arrive by June 15. And the best part? Some of them are even on sale. One item any dad would find interesting is the popular AncestryDNA Genetic Test Kit. It's on sale for right now, meaning you can snag it for just $79. If your dad is curious about his family roots, from detailed family trees to details on where he originated from, this kit can unlock fascinating information. Keep scrolling to snag this deal. Save 39 per cent on this DNA kit ahead of Father's Day. Ancestry started as a way for people to explore their genealogy by accessing historical records like marriage certificates, military records and immigration and travel data. Today, through the magic of DNA testing, Ancestry is making it easier for users to learn about their roots via AncestryDNA. The DNA testing service provides users with ethnicity estimates by region and can help identify new family connections. You can still explore your ancestry and DNA results without making yourself open to connecting with potential relatives; all you have to do is opt out of the feature to communicate with people. While there are other DNA kits on the market, Ancestry offers the largest database of samples (approximately 18 million samples to compare your DNA to), providing greater accuracy in ethnicity estimates and increased chances of matching with relatives. ⭐️ 4.4/5 stars 💬 800+ ratings 🏆 "Surprisingly accurate background on family history." One pleased shopper said they had "an enlightening experience" with this DNA kit. "The process was straightforward and user-friendly," they wrote. They also confirmed the "instructions were clear" and that the "breakdown was incredibly comprehensive." Someone else called it "so cool" and said it "was nice to know where we hailed from." Another reviewer claimed, "Ancestry is worth its weight in gold." They said they've "had wonderful results" and "discovered information" about themselves that they "never dreamed of." However, it's important to note that someone said Ancestry's "customer service is useless" — just something to keep in mind. Backed by millions of users, AncestryDNA is a popular method to discover your family's genealogy. If you're looking to learn more about your heritage without the added information of health reports, Ancestry's DNA kit might be for you. However, if you're not ready to pay for a membership to access in-depth details about your family's history, you might want to reconsider — or manage your expectations about what you'll learn with your results.
