People assume we are born this way. Our Dadness starts on day one.
People assume we are born this way. Our Dadness starts on day one.
It’s my edible nemesis and my new daily nightmare. Welcome to fatherhood, pops.
The box is tossed in front of the front door, the bag is almost completely empty, and, mixed between the pieces, are squashed particles of cereal dust.
My son turns television watching into an all-out physical event.
I didn’t get mad at him for an impulse that he obviously couldn’t control in that moment. I wanted to. A voice in my head said, “Yo. Freak out.”
The things I do for my son aren’t done for his recognition, appreciation, or even attention. They’re done because I love him.
Keeping his iPad away for the entire final day of Spring Break sounded crazy to everyone, including me, but it had to be done.
Fireworks don’t go off for great parental achievements. There are no major awards to be handed out.
I don’t even know how we escaped. I’m surprised we’re not still playing that game today.
I watch though the lens of my camera and the lens of my fatherhood and can’t believe what I am seeing.