Fatherhood Is For Men

I feel this potent miniature awakening whenever I hear my kids laughing. The sound of their happiness is like a time machine for me. When I hear it my mind simultaneously replays so many past joys; the feeling can’t be processed intellectually... only spiritually.

•••

My daughter had seizures when she was two years old, and she spent a week in the children’s hospital. It was the most terrifying experience of my life. I think I’ve been through a fair amount adversity in my life. I don’t complain about it. I’ve always tried to live one day at a time and take things as they come.

That experience though, rattled the foundations of my soul.

Seeing her laying there, a helpless baby with everything in front of her, or nothing, caused my to abandon god and be born again on a nearly minute by minute basis.

•••

My stepdad has these Yogi Bera-esque one liners that he says from time to time... we call them “Edmundisms”.

During that time that Violet was in the hospital he uttered this to me, “Fatherhood is for men.” In his way he was telling me that despite my fear and anxiety I needed to be strong for Violet. His words hit me deeply.

This is what men do.

They transcend themselves... their own issues, challenges and dramas for the people they love.

I had to remind myself of that, and repeat it like a mantra throughout the whole ordeal. Eventually, after three months of additional tests she was cleared, and the seizures never came back.

She overcame.

We all did.

•••

Today was long and hard. There is too much work, and my mind is laboring over situations built for bigger brains than mine.

As I tucked Violet and Buster in and retreated to my bedroom I stopped to simply enjoy the silence.

I tried to pull a curtain over my mind’s eye and see nothing. I didn’t want to think about websites, or videos or print ads or podcasts. I didn’t want to contemplate what ifs or if whens. I just wanted to sit in peace and quiet and hear my own breathing as I drifted off to sleep.

But then... the little footsteps in the hallway. The laughing.

The time machine.

“Daddy, we’re not tired. Can you read this book to us?” they said as they burst through my door and climbed on top of me on my bed, which they call “The Big Bed”.

Lemony Snicket’s A Series Of Unfortunate Events.

How could I resist.

I got Violet’s name from that book.

The time machine. The mini awakening triggered by their happiness gave me the energy to cuddle up with them in The Big Bed and read about Count Olaf.

•••

They are asleep on top of me now, and the big bed doesn’t seem so big anymore. I’m shoved into a corner, and by the light of my phone I can see their little stomachs rising and falling with the rhythm of their breathing.

•••

I can’t sleep now.

I’ll probably be up for hours watching New Girl on Netflix.

I guess that’s what men do, though.

Fatherhood is for men.

That laughter and the time machine are pure magic, and in my sometimes hectic and loud life, I wouldn’t trade it for all the peace and quiet in the world.