Sometimes, I forget that I’m a dad.
I don’t forget that I have a child, there’s too many toys on my floor to ever forget a child lives here. But usually when I think of me, I see myself as the same ole’ Dave – a dreamer, writer, sometimes moody, sometimes goofy, cookie-loving, woefully unskilled at fixing things sorta guy I’ve been forever.
And then there’s moments which remind me of my newest role in life. Like this moment.
I picked up my son from daycare Thursday. When I arrived, there were only two kids on the playground, my two year old son, E, and his friend/classmate, Ryan.
The minute E saw me coming up the sidewalk towards the playground, he started running with his arms open, saying, “Daddy!”
Only he wasn’t running alone. Ryan was also running and saying, “Daddy.”
I’m not sure if Ryan was being playful or if he thought his dad was also there. Kid logic dictates that if E’s daddy is there, so must his. At any rate, just as I reached the fence where both boys were, they lined up to get to me. E put his hands up to Ryan, pushing him backwards (though not down) and shook his head and said …
“No, not YOUR daddy, MY daddy.”
I opened the gate and he ran up and hugged me saying, “my daddy.”
It was an adorable reminder that yes, I am a daddy. I am E’s daddy. And I felt a bit of pride swell up, and maybe even a tear or two (which I immediately fought back in a manly way by punching myself in the face).
That night, my wife, E and I were sitting in the living room and I asked E for a hug, to which he responded with a shake of his head as he went about the business of playing. Hey, these cars aren’t going to drive themselves, are they?
“Okay, I guess I’ll just ask Ry Ry to hug me,” I teased.
Yeah, not my proudest moment, guilt tripping my son into loving me. I hate guilt trips – both pulling them and having them pulled on me. I consider that the providence of over-attentive/protective mothers. Or perhaps myself in another 12 years in attempts trying to deal with a teenager.
E looked up at me, the wheels spinning in his head as he processed what I said, then hugged me, saying, “My daddy, not Ry-Ry’s.”
Aww, I know, right?
Saturday, we were all in the living room again. It had been a few days since we’d spoken of Ryan or “my daddy.” Out of the blue, E came up to me, wrapped his hands around me, laying his head on my belly and looked up at me, saying, “My daddy, not Ry-Ry’s.”
My heart melted and this time, it was I who felt a bit guilty. Wait a second, did my son just learn to guilt trip me?
Here are some recent pictures from when I took my son to the local fire station and asked the guys to show him around. Click and of the pics to enlarge.
Come back tomorrow when I talk about my proudest accomplishment on the web – and it has to to do with My Little Pony.
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