Look at my life

The Old Man must certainly have been surprised, sort of like Joseph was surprised, except that the Old Man had it on plenty good evidence that this was not to be a virgin birth. Not that I want to get too much into that, seeing as how it involves my kin and all. Anyway, he had to be a bit surprised, and, like Joseph, he had to make a choice here. Certainly he did not plan to evade the law or anything like that, but there is a long way from fulfilling one’s parental obligations as outlined by the family court and actually being a part of a family.

And what kind of family? Surely my family must have appeared somewhat less than welcoming. We weren’t the gun keeping kind, nor would Pappy necessarily have the je ne ce qua to use one. Still, here’s a guy who is not quite old enough to be my dad and yet he’s got a kid four years my junior and is about to make me an uncle. You’ve got to give credit to a guy who would suit up and show up under those circumstances.

He not only showed up for the big things — the Christmases, the egg hunts — but also for the everyday. As a matter of fact, he showed up before the day even started and got busy with work so that he could be home when his daughter got home. She was a great kid and is a great woman now, and he’s still a big part of her life.

That’s the part he chose. Mothers don’t have a choice. They are biologically connected for nine months and, I think, hardwired for connection ever after. Fathers have to choose. All fathers have to choose. Some choose poorly, but others — like the Old Man — make the choice be a father. When I think about what this day means, what kind of father I want to be, his example reminds me of the joy that being committed to a family can bring.