On Fatherhood

Have you heard me say it? I love being a dad.

Being a father touches my deepest hopes (and, truthfully, triggers some of my darkest fears). I want to love these boys with my full self, to give them all my heart, to see them and know them, to help them see their true name, to help them make their way in this screwy world.

Last week, Wyatt pulled up his courage and walked into his first grade classroom by himself (some early trauma his first week of school had made this quite an ordeal). I sat in the car, watching him trot down this sidewalk, backpack bobbing up and down – Wyatt strolling like he owned the school. I was so proud of him, and I was sad – before long he won’t want me to walk him to class (which, I guess, is a good thing – dad dropping him off in 10th grade might be odd).

Today, Seth turned 5. I love that little buddy of mine. Yesterday, I took him to the Timberlake drug store and soda fountain downtown. We went into the 1950’s style establishment and made our way to the back where you can still sit at the counter in vinyl-red covered spinning stools. Seth ordered a chocolate coke (yup) and an oatmeal cream pie. I loved sitting there, chatting with him, enjoying his wide-grin. When we were walking downtown, Seth did what he usually does – he slipped his hand in mine, easy and natural. And we just walked and talked. I hope we always walk and talk, until I am too old for either.