When I was in high school, I loved this time of year because I could finally play wiffle ball with my friends.

When I was in college, I loved this time of year because I could consume alarming amounts of alcohol outdoors while sporting a sleeveless jersey, sunglasses, and zero sense of humility.

When I was in my 20s, I loved this time of year because it brings those 5-7 pitch perfect days that trick you into thinking it’s actually pleasant to live in New York City all year round.

Now, I love this time of year because the moderate national nightmare of being trapped inside with young kids is over.

It’s officially playground season. With that, here are 10 dads you’ll be sure to meet at the park:

Going to the playground is not merely an activity. Rather, it’s a performance.

With engagement levels that would make a tech executive jealous, he’s 125% focused on signaling to the other parents how great of a dad he is. He accomplishes this objective through climbing on the jungle gym, rolling in the wood chips, and playing peek-a-boo under the slide.

You’ll know if it’s just a temporary act by how quickly he gets exhausted. If he can keep it up for a solid half an hour, he might just be a really good dad.

He greets you with a handshake that’s way too elaborate for two men approaching 40. His outfit is a little too nice for the park, but not glaringly so.

You only sort of know this guy, so you’re slightly flattered (and slightly taken aback) that he’s chatting you up like you’re old friends. He seems to know everyone here.

He furtively passes you a hard seltzer, which he deems acceptable because it’s 2 p.m.

“Hey, the park is the new bar,” he says out of the corner of his mouth. “Cheers.”

This guy clearly needs to read up on the safetyism literature. Anything resembling risky play absolutely terrifies him, and he’s got the uneven tenor in his voice to show it.

He’s constantly shadowing his daughter, spotting her with the tenacity of two guys doing the benchpress. At any moment a step could turn into a fall, a fall could turn into a bump, a bump could turn into trip to the emergency room, and a trip to the emergency room could turn into dealing with the wrath of his spouse.

This is the true form of the domino theory politicians used to be so concerned about.

Charlotte Pickles Dad may not be sporting a beeper and a skirt suit with shoulder pads, but he’s exhibiting the same vibe as the classic Rugrats character. Technically there, but mostly just ignoring his family to overprioritize his career.

While his kid is tumbling to the ground, he’s negotiating a sticking point of a deal. Hopefully this isn’t supposed to be confidential, because the whole playground could hear him haggling over a few percentage points of interest.

You run into this dad every third time you go to the park. You don’t know him from anywhere else, but have developed a solid rapport based on the fact that your kids are roughly the same age, both are obsessed with Sesame Street, and he seems to be one of the few normal dads around.

Will one of you take the leap and attempt to move the friendship beyond just random encounters at the park? Probably not. These are two adult men, after all.

“Let’s not do the slide,” he urges. “How about let’s play in the sandbox?”

The sandbox, of course, is the one place where he doesn’t really have to fully watch his child.

A stalwart of the health/fitness/longevity corner of online media, he has spent most of his young dad career optimizing parenting in a way that supports his goal of continually strenghtening his HRV.

While the park is technically a place for his child to play and explore, he’s turned it into a CrossFit gym of sorts, lifting his child in all sorts of strange positions. After all, carrying children was the original form of rucking.

He’s kids are 8 and 5; nearly out of the range to acceptably exist at this park. Yet, because he’s spent the last decade here, his sense of ownership over this plot of public property is palpable.

What are all these idiots doing who just had kids? They’re obviously young millennials and maybe even (gasp) some GenZ. We’ve gotta get them out of here.

To this elder millennial, this is a travesty similar to how younger millennials never really went to Dave Matthews Band concerts.

We must tip our hat to this dad, who is carrying on the timeless tradition of ensuring that parents of children who are slightly different ages can never really be great friends.

This exact scenario is the thing he dreaded most about being a dad. It’s a Sunday afternoon and there are three different Game 7s of the NBA playoffs happening, plus the final round of the PGA Championship. Obviously, a Sunday TaylorMade for being propped up against the couch with a bowl of wings, his twitter feed, and his group chat.

Not being able to do this—and having to resort to sneakily checking the score at a place with dads who apparently(!) don’t care about sports—is a unique form of torture.

His kids are the ones who are half-terrorizing the park and causing near emergency room misses with all the young toddlers. The new parents are aghast at this behavior. The less-new parents somewhat understand it. The dogs running around at the park seem to absolutely love it.

Most likely on his third child—or, having the misfortune of watching all three at the same time—this dad has long since given up on anything that resembles feeling in control of his life.

Part of you feels bad for him. But mostly, you wonder when he has time to take a shower.