I’ve been a dad for a little over a year now. While that may not qualify me to write books concerning fatherhood or have my own talk show on the matter it does provide me with knowledge – knowledge I didn’t have a year ago.
It’s incredible, really, the things that being a father does to you.
I find myself caught up in a desire to protect and shelter the tiny creation (of which I was an integral part) from anything that would cause those perfect brown eyes to rim with tears from slipping and scraping a knee as she masters walking today; or the breaking of a heart caused by cruel and thoughtless words muttered in derision by some stupid prepubescent boy down the road; or the catty and diabolical scheming of teenage girls when the edict of the popular minority has decided to ostracize or tear down.
Perhaps my angst would be different if I were the father of a boy; perhaps it would stay the same. Silly as it is to find my mind wander five, ten, and fifteen years in the future, the instant in which the twelve months prior have passed before me makes those coming years ever so relevant now.
Greater even than these anxieties – which cross my mind only on occasion – are the joyous moments of the now: the smile and squeal which greets when opening her door after a nap; the pitter patter of little feet racing around the kitchen during hide-n-seek; the intense babbling of words not known yet expected to be understood. Prior to that Tuesday afternoon at , I had no idea the ability to love someone or something else so perfectly and resolutely was within my capacity. Even now it surprises me.
So, between the angst of future events unknown and unseen and the elation found in the trivial happenings of today, I count being a father as the greatest privilege to have ever come my way.