It was a great day; a few presents and cards, a few phone calls and texts, a pint of my favorite Ben & Jerry’s ice cream at 1100 calories. This time last year, my wife was visibly pregnant, so I got some Father’s Day wishes then. But having a living, breathing child earns you a lot more credibility. Our sitter was the first person to say HFD to me, and it really sunk in: I’m 30 and I’m one of the grown ups now.
I forget that I’m an adult sometimes because I still look to my parents and other elders for advice. Of course I realize I’m an adult–I’m married, I go to work everyday, pay for my own rental cars and dental co-pays…adulthood has been slapping me upside the head for a few years now.
But fatherhood is something else–especially as the kid gets older and actually recognizes me. He really melts my heart. If you know me, you know I’m a nice guy, but my heart is not one to melt. The only time that has ever happened was when Isis and I started dating-I was gone! She’s still my tootsie-pop, but even she can testify to the fact that I can be ice cold for extended periods if I choose. Jay-Z calls it “no passion, no patience.”
But now that I’m a real man, I understand that sort of hardness is not real manhood, and it’s certainly not real fatherhood. I realize that I’m only a father because of my wife and son, so Father’s Day is really a tribute to them. I still expect presents and a certain free reign on the day, of course, but as long as the attention is on me, I’m happy to acknowledge their role as well.