So Father’s Day is right around the corner. It’s Sunday in fact. Unlike Mother’s Day, there’s not nearly as much pomp and fanfare surrounding the day of fathers. I get it. Mothers are the givers of life and hugs and they kiss the boo-boo. On the “we give a flying fig about you” totem pole, mama reigns supreme over nearly everybody. Then comes grandma, aunties, etc. Now this might be a “colored” paradigm since so many people of hue seem to go without strong pappy-influence.
I don’t understand this. I really don’t. For the life of me, I can’t conceive of not being an active part of my daughter’s life. I just can’t. DOES NOT COMPUTE. I can’t understand how any man can see this tiny little being that he created and not want to hold him or her and never put them down. I still pick up my daughter, against her wishes unless she’s tired or just got into trouble, and carry her around sometimes just because I miss when she was little enough to want me to do it all the time. I love my kid. In fact, I didn’t know I could love something as much as I love my daughter. It actually caught me by surprise.