Day Five - Mother/Father

So apparently fatherhood has been on my mind lately. 

Children and parenthood have made their way into a lot of conversations lately, which means my mind brings it back up to me when I sit down with a pen. 

I was reminded today through a conversation with a coworker of a book I read once by the brilliant Jim Beaver called Life's That Way about his wife's cancer and his struggle with becoming a single parent which reminded me of a scene I once wrote about a conversation between a little girl and her father while he got her ready for bed because of a picture I once saw. (this, friends, is my brain's trail of thought). 

I scoured my box of notebooks when I got home tonight for said scene, but could find it nowhere. I am determined to find it, though. 

Just not tonight when it close to midnight and I have been ready to curl up in my bed for hours. 

So here's my lunch break written scene. 

I thought I could be better.

But she found someone who was better before I had time to change for her.

Sometimes I’m almost glad she left. Five years of constant worry because she didn’t come home that night, five years of wondering what I could do different to make her happier than when she was with these other men, five years of praying I wouldn’t get a phone call at work that she had crashed her car while driving under an influence – whatever her influence of choice was that day – and was in the hospital or worse, five years of knowing she would never love me the way I loved her. Five years of me being scared.

If it wasn’t for Bird, I could say that I’m relieved I don’t have to be scared anymore.

But I’m still scared.

I’m scared I’m only a “good enough” father. I’m scared I’ll botch this single dad thing up and she’ll grow up to be just like her mother. I’m scared I can’t be father and mother for her.

And if I’m honest, this fear is much worse.

There are moments when the fear is momentarily disarmed and my love for Bird is all I know in the world.

When I can leave work early enough to pick her up and I walk into her kindergarten classroom and she sees me in the doorway and there’s a moment where her face slowly breaks into laughter and she stands up and runs over to me as fast as her little legs can move, shrieking, “Daaaaaaaaaddyyyyyyyy!” the whole way and then she just jumps, knowing I will catch her up into my arms.

In that moment, I don’t really think there is a happier man on earth.

Or when she sits on the floor in front of the telly with me, her little face scrunched up in concentration as she colours something only she can see in her mind and then finishes and tugs on my arm and I look down and see she and I at the park or the beach or the country and there are hearts for clouds and the words “Bird daddy love” across the top and neither of us say anything and I feel tears in my eyes and she kisses my cheek and curls up with her head in my lap and drifts off to sleep while I stroke her hair.

In these moments, I know so desperately that she deserves so much more than me.

But I also know in my core that no one could ever love Bird as much as I do.