My Sons Father

I grew up without a dad. It's a fact and it also says a lot about me. It wasn't my moms fault, and it's her story and not mine to tell. But my dad rarely visited. He would come once a year. He would tell me on the phone how much my mom really hated me too, and to burn my homework, but that's another story.

Reuben has a dad.

I don't know what dads are supposed to do. At least, that is the first thing I remember thinking, after the survival weeks of newborn cluster feeding wore off. What do dads do? I don't know.

That was also the first time I realized I missed out on something as a kid. Not to say my mom was a bad mom. She is amazing. She put herself through college with kids and became a teacher and we had a home of love. But I never had a dad.

When I was little it didn't bother me, I actually didn't think about it much. My mom loved me. She made me cakes on my birthday and read me books and took me to tennis practice and bought me a clarinet and braided my hair and gifted me my first bible.

But I do know there are struggles and issues I deal with in my life due to the absence of a strong, loving male role model. Not to say my past is responsible for bad decisions I made, but more like I can see a correlation.

Seeing Reuben have what I never did is twofold. On one hand I thank God for my husband and rejoice that he is such a wonderful father. And on the other hand I mourn and grieve over the empty hole in my own life.

I am glad that I get to discover what a dad does, even if it's through my sons eyes.