Being a Dad
I wrote this in October and forgot to post it. Looking at it today, I decided I still like it and want to post it.
There’s something about baby smiles that makes dealing with infants about a thousand times easier than before they start smiling. It’s as if over night they go from being an eating pooping machine to a real person. Yesterday, I had no connection to my twin sons. Today they smiled and I love them every bit as much as I do my 2½ year old daughter. Weird response to the likely result of infant gas, yes, but it’s my response all the same.
Watched “Field of Dreams” recently and, naturally, cried towards the end. It touches on a truly sad dynamic in the relationship between father and son. By the time I got to know my father, he was already middle aged and past his prime. The same will be true for my own sons. They will never get to know me as a young man, in my prime. My earliest memories are as a 4 – 5 year old. By the time my sons turn 4, I’ll be 34. By the time they’re teenagers, coming into their own, I’ll be forty-two. I don’t resent growing old (much). It’s something we all have to do. It’s the passage of years that will separate me from my children. By the time they truly understand me, will it be too late? Too late for what though?
There’s a positive message for me and that it’s not too late, because I understand my own father now. I understand what he gave up for my brothers, sister and I. It takes a lot of love to run out of the house at 10 o’clock to pick up milk when more than anything you want sit in your chair drink a beer and watch the game on TV. It takes a lot of love to drag your tired, I work 50 – 60 hours a week, ass out of bed and drive you son to a 6am hockey practice. I hope he knows how much I love him back and how I know I’ll never repay him and can only hope to pass along that love to my own children. Maybe I should tell him.
There’s something about baby smiles that makes dealing with infants about a thousand times easier than before they start smiling. It’s as if over night they go from being an eating pooping machine to a real person. Yesterday, I had no connection to my twin sons. Today they smiled and I love them every bit as much as I do my 2½ year old daughter. Weird response to the likely result of infant gas, yes, but it’s my response all the same.
Watched “Field of Dreams” recently and, naturally, cried towards the end. It touches on a truly sad dynamic in the relationship between father and son. By the time I got to know my father, he was already middle aged and past his prime. The same will be true for my own sons. They will never get to know me as a young man, in my prime. My earliest memories are as a 4 – 5 year old. By the time my sons turn 4, I’ll be 34. By the time they’re teenagers, coming into their own, I’ll be forty-two. I don’t resent growing old (much). It’s something we all have to do. It’s the passage of years that will separate me from my children. By the time they truly understand me, will it be too late? Too late for what though?
There’s a positive message for me and that it’s not too late, because I understand my own father now. I understand what he gave up for my brothers, sister and I. It takes a lot of love to run out of the house at 10 o’clock to pick up milk when more than anything you want sit in your chair drink a beer and watch the game on TV. It takes a lot of love to drag your tired, I work 50 – 60 hours a week, ass out of bed and drive you son to a 6am hockey practice. I hope he knows how much I love him back and how I know I’ll never repay him and can only hope to pass along that love to my own children. Maybe I should tell him.
posted by Danielle at Tuesday, January 31, 2006
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