Fathers, brothers, and sons

I used to believe in separation of all things, between the sacred divine mother of all things creation and the womb, I did not believe in the participation of the other side-

Fathers and their participation in the family dynamics,

Fathers, brothers and sons,

Mothers, sisters and daughters,

I used to try to separate and compartmentalize our roles

to keep things clean and tidy,

Laundry freshly pressed and folded in tri-fold butterfly style,

Dishes washed and neatly stacked in the cupboards,

Books assembled by genre and author,

Color coordinated.

Then parenthood happens,

Life as we know it, becomes messy and babies become the unknown factor of x and you are left chasing the clock in a race to catch up on sleep and wonder where you left the house keys,

wonder if you left the stove on as you rush out of the house with baby in your arm, catching the bus to daycare and you wonder where the hell is the dad in all of this mess?

Then I met you.  A presence from my past and the familiar brooding gaze I remember.

I remember telling you that I didn’t want to have kids and that all I really wanted was the glorious battle of sex and a dirty limerick now and then,

Now it is catching up on missed sleep,

18 years later and I’m still wondering where the hell is my child’s dad.

I know you are not him.  You are not even cut from the same cloth. You are everything I wanted a partner to be and more. Yes even your brooding side.

Every person is different and you are finding your path as a father to your son, brother to your brother and a son to your own father,

Tricky, yes?

Intricate dances we all waltz around to.  I am telling you that parenting is a mix of making it up and making sure you don’t make the same mistakes twice. Life is messy and babies un-glue even the most tidiest of linen closets.

I know what works,

Honesty and humility,

Love conquers all,

At the end of the day, I hear children softly snoring in their beds and you sleeping beside me. That’s all I need.

 

 

 

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