Brian Adams of Andover, Mass., is a UNH alumnus originally from Londonderry. He was previously a sketch comedy writing instructor and staff writer at ImprovBoston and a founding contributor to satirical online newspaper Recyculus. He is a father to three girls ages 6 and under.

Last spring, around Father’s Day, my 6-year-old daughter, Alexandra, came home from school with a worksheet called “All About My Dad.” You’ve seen them before, one of those activities that allows children to demonstrate how clueless they often are regarding their parents. Her sheet had a few funny answers, but there was one in particular that stuck out to me. When it asked “Who is your dad’s best friend?” she answered “Travis.”

Travis is many things: a good and trustworthy neighbor, a man who appreciates craft beer and heavy machinery (ideally not at the same time), and a father to three girls, just like me. But even Travis would agree that he and I are not best friends. He’s just one of the only male non-relatives with whom my daughter ever sees me interact.

I will attempt to not sound too defensive here, but I do have friends. I promise you. It’s just that most of them don’t live in the same state as me anymore. My friends text and sometimes talk on the phone with me, but they are rarely seen in person by my daughter (or by me, for that matter.)

“We need to get you some friends,” my wife always says.

Easy for her to say. Ever since she gave birth to our oldest daughter, she has sought out local mom groups, who are great at offering each other emotional support, helpful tips, and, as it turns out, friendship. My wife has all kinds of friends who she’s met through different mom groups. They regularly meet up and get together with the kids at different playgrounds in the area or go for drinks on a mom’s night out. But what do we dads get?

“I’m going to sign you up for Dads and Donuts,” my wife told me. “You do a craft project with the kids and then...”

“Let me guess,” I cut her off. “Then we have donuts?”

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This was not the first iteration of Dads and Donuts I’ve experienced. There was the one at the library, one at the farm, one at the bowling alley, I knew the drill. I think these events are meant as an opportunity for dads to connect with their kids. Personally, the only way I could be any more connected to my kids is if the three of them were krazy-glued to my kneecaps. I’m all set in that department and my wife is well aware. She just wants me to meet other dads.

It can be a tall task, meeting other dads. If you’re generally familiar with dads, you may be aware that some of us speak very little, while others speak even less. This is a very high hurdle to clear in the race towards the friendship finish line. Even the chattiest amongst us isn’t necessarily brimming with conversation from the get-go. Many of us need to find the right topic to set us free. Take me, for example. I am quiet by default, a natural observer, but the right conversation topic can turn me into a downright chatty daddy.

Beyond having kids, what common ground might we dads uncover at one of these events?

“I see you’ve selected the French cruller. Looks sort of like a truck tire, right? So, may I have your phone number for a future get-together?” It just seems implausible that such a scenario might play out successfully. Plus, there are so many different breeds of dads. You’ve got Sports Dads, Video Game Dads, Bass Pro Shop Dads, Game of Thrones Dads and countless other permutations. This, combined with our sometimes anti-social nature, makes it seem so unlikely for us to stumble upon some common ground for bonding.

Years ago, I shared a cubicle with a man whose name I believe was Jason. We sat less than four feet apart for eight hours per day, five days per week. The first day he moved into the cubicle, I didn’t get around to introducing myself, nor did he. After that, neither of us, both in our thirties, could seem to find the appropriate time to do so for the next seven months, until finally he was reassigned to another desk somewhere else and I never saw him again. We never spoke. All of this is to say, while I genuinely feel like I’m open to making new friends, maybe my faulty social instincts will forever prevent any acquaintance from turning into friendship again.

At this point in my life, there are few people I count as friends who I have known for less than twenty years. I don’t think that’s necessarily a good thing. How does that children’s song go? Make new friends and keep the old. Perhaps I should take that advice a little more seriously and be more open to new friendships in the new year that’s now upon us. If you see do see me out and about, feel free to stop and say hello. I’ll be the one in the Vineyard Vines hoodie, holding three kids and a chocolate glazed donut.