Sam: What are you doing?
Me: writing a poem about what it might be like to not have a dad.
Me: Does it suck today?
Sam: A little bit.
Me: I can’t imagine.
Sam: It’s kind of OK though too. Because we have you. And I like having you all to myself with my brother.
Me: It’s OK for it to suck. What can be hard about it?
Sam: Because a daddy can’t play with me.
Me: Do kids ever give you a hard time about not having a daddy?
Sam: They ask me sometimes why I don’t have one.
Me: What do you tell them?
Sam: I don’t know.
Me: You don’t know why you don’t have a daddy?
Me: It’s kind of like you don’t have a daddy twice isn’t it? Once because I’m not married, and once because your birth father wasn’t ready or able to be a parent when you were born.
Sam: That’s what I should tell them?
Me: You don’t have to tell them anything. Or you can say; My family has an Uncle, a Mommy, and lots and lots of other people who love me too.
Sam: OK. Can I go play my guitar now?
While I was writing a poem (that’s not ready for the world) trying to imagine an older Sam and what this might look like to him, the conversation above happened.
We have amazing men in our life. I write about them all the time: older ones, younger ones, Black ones, and creamy ones. Constant ones, sporadic ones. Sporty ones, and bookish ones. There are the theatrical ones, and the serious ones. The stop your foolishness ones, and the foolish ones. And there will always be the missing one. Marcel’s story is different, and deserving of his own poem. Which I actually wrote a year ago. I’ll re post it another day. His connection with his “donor” is more accessible, closer.
To all our many papas we cherish you. To the one we don’t really know, we hold you close always too. We honor all the magnificent talent,charisma and love you brought into our lives today.
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