Parenthood...

When I was in my early 20s, there was a McDonald’s commercial with a father and his young daughter lying in a hammock, trying to remember the names of the seven dwarves. At the end of the commercial, after they’ve laughed over remembering the last of the dwarves, there’s a very brief moment where the father gives the little girl a squeeze, then it fades out. Strange as it may sound, the first time I saw that commercial, something in me clicked, and I had the thought, “I’m ready to be a dad.” I’d known my whole life that I wanted children, but that’s not quite the same. It went from a vague aspiration to a deep certainty at that moment. All because of an ad campaign.

Fortunately, I knew on some level that the woman I was with at the time was not the one with whom I wanted to share that. Our relationship wasn’t one into which I’d have brought a child, even if, at the time, I didn’t realize yet that I didn’t belong there, either. Over time, and through other relationships, the want to be dad never vanished, or even really diminished, but circumstances never seemed to align. Something was always missing. Sometimes it was, as before, the wrong partners, others, almost always, there was barely enough to go around for the two of us, much less a third. When I finally reached a place where I could meet one condition, another would stop me. I had very nearly given up on the idea a number of times, trying to accept that perhaps it wasn’t something that was meant for me. The world doesn’t always listen to the yearning of one’s heart, no matter how true.

Last night, you told me that you were a little afraid of how I would handle living with three young girls. You were scared that it would be too much, and that I’d give up. I offered you reassurances that I’d been an uncle to more kids than I could count, and the one who got tasked more often than not with the hardest parts of raising a child, and that the thought of it had never scared me, despite my being very realistic about the difficulties, especially in a situations like ours. In truth, though, the reason I’m not worried is because I’ve always known that this is where I want to be, that children were part of my plan almost from the beginning, but that I thought I’d never have the chance. They’re a part of you, and that means, in my heart, they’re a part of us, too. That feels like enough to start (as well as a nearly infinite patience, especially with children). The rest will be learning them, just as I’ve learned you, and letting them know me. 

I’ve always been of the mindset that we don’t determine whether we’re parents, the children do. They choose us. I’ve chosen some great ones of the course of my life. And I learned from them, so that, when I meet the girls, I can be the best man I know how to be for them. The rest is their choice, though I’ll be that, either way. I choose them, same as I choose you, in the hopes that my love will be enough to earn theirs in return. I have no illusions that it’ll be an easy road, but it’ll be a worthwhile one, because the love you and I share will be something into which they can flourish. I love you, my sweet girl, now and always.