My name is Vince, and I’m 39 years old, and I’ve never had
children. I’ve had much experience with being in the life of a child, and I
think I do well with kids in general, but I am not a parent in the literal
sense: nobody calls me Dad.
I want children—or maybe just one child—of my own someday,
but I have no plans to impregnate any human females in the near future. I also
have no plans to impregnate any other females of any species which is hopefully
a relief to my friends and family. But if you want to make God laugh, make
plans.
I recently put myself in a relationship with a willing
partner who has two beautiful children from a failed marriage. She has custody
of both of them full time, and I have taken on some of the responsibility of a
positive male role-model. I suppose that’s a nice way to put it. Another way to
put it is that I have forsaken my previous life as a bachelor to take on a roll
much needed in the lives of three amazing ladies. But that last definition is
self-centered in that it focuses on what I have sacrificed. I no longer have
the right to concentrate on my desires over what is needed by the greater good.
My only objective here is to continue to do the next right thing and give
instead of take. What comes back—what is given to me that I do not ask for—is a
love I am unaccustomed to; a look from a child that says she appreciates me; a
laugh at my silly joke; or a hug from a tiny person when I wake up in the
morning. I can’t express what those actions do to me inside, but it activates a
part in my brain that I don’t think has ever been used. I know I’m not Daddy,
but I’m filling in where one is needed, and it’s coming naturally as far as I
can tell.
Privacy is gone, organization is out the window, and my
skills as a cook are humbled by the selective palate of a toddler and her older
sister. I’ve found myself in a world where some people only pee and shit in
diapers which they cannot clean themselves. They cannot eat a meal without
getting food in their hair, and juice on the floor. They cannot stand it when a
grown-up is not present in a room, and they will open bathroom doors and shower
curtains to be in sight of an adult. It’s creepy. Two-year-olds are creepy.
There, I said it.
The older one is much easier to communicate with mostly
because she knows English at a first-grade-level, and we have a lot of fun with
math, cooking, and projects from the internet. She is creepy in her own ways,
and she doesn’t like to flush the toilet when she’s done, but I can accept all
of her shortcomings because she is learning daily. We laugh a lot and I told
her how to spell the word fart.
I am not Daddy. I am not replacing Daddy, because I need to
be better than he was in their lives when he was there. He left with an impact
that will surely be felt in their lives for some time to come, and he is in a
place where he can work on becoming a better father and I hope and pray that
someday he can be part of their lives again as their father. If and when that
happens, I will still be in their mother’s life as a positive male role-model,
and someday when we have all been through whatever it is we are going through
now, we will establish our relationship boundaries and live our lives in as
happy a fashion as possible. For now, we are growing each day, and learning how
to love again.
