Yesterday was my second Father's Day. The 28th for my Dad. The 51st and 55+ for my grandfathers. I maintain the only thing that rivals being a Dad is being a Mom. The point being that having a child is the largest of little gifts. Wrapped in little smiles here and there, an occasional temper-tantrum and this feeling of more-than-responsibility.
Isaac's infused my life with an immeasurable joy and pride. I am at once teacher, disciplinarian, jester, comforter, entertainer, entertainee, duck and goose. That I love being a dad, that I well up with emotion when merely approaching the idea that I'm a father to this boy, this blue-eyed, yelling, screaming, pacifier throwing, doubled-over laughing, crying, pushing a toy lawnmower around for 2+ hours, child is my me.
The other night he had trouble sleeping. So I scooped him up before the tears could mount and sat with him in my arms. His grip on his green blanket was impenetrable as his breathing eventually slowed and the tears, watery and large, fell silently away. We sat there, like we do on occasion, for about 15 minutes and then I put him back in bed for the remainder of the night.
There's is a lot to fatherhood. But sometimes, that's all there is.
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