This is a big improvement on the old portrait of dads. We used to bumble about in sitcoms, screwing things up so that our competent wives could come along and clean up the mess, whether it be emotional or literal. Those wives were, typically, about four degrees more attractive than us, an 8, say, to our 4-on-the-verge-of-becoming-a-3. And yet we rarely showed any progress, any likelihood of becoming a little less clueless, a little more grateful.