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Call Me Dad: Reflections on Parenting
In the realm of parenting, I find myself referred to as “Dad” by my two children and our dog—though the dog is more inclined to bark and wag his tail than utter anything intelligible. My children, however, have a variety of names for me, including “Abba,” the Hebrew term for father, and occasionally “Daddy.” My daughter, with her dark hair and impish grin, sometimes calls me “da-da,” which prompts me to pull her into a bear hug while playfully admonishing her about that smile.
Her giggles are infectious as she feigns innocence, and I can’t help but return that mischievous smile, a gesture that often leaves friends and family pondering my intentions. This playful expression often raises concerns about my wallet’s whereabouts, and I brace myself for a call from an irate parent or authority figure.
Writing about these moments provides a sense of nostalgia; it’s easier to portray myself, Jack, in a light-hearted manner than to delve into my parental worries. My greatest fear is that my children may inherit my less-than-stellar traits. I often find myself anxious that they will encounter boredom in school due to lack of challenges, leading them to develop poor study habits. I dread the thought of them figuring out shortcuts and thinking they can charm their way out of any situation—perhaps even taking reckless leaps off the roof into the pool.
As for my daughter, who exhibits a fierce independence at just six years old, I worry about her future interactions with boys. I am painfully aware of the various ways that young boys can make girls feel special, yet often with insincerity. To protect her, I have considered sending my son, her older brother, to a Tibetan monastery. There, he would learn not only the peaceful arts but also self-defense techniques—armed with an arsenal of knowledge, including over 1,983 ways to protect his sister.
I acknowledge that I cannot always shield her, so leveraging her brother’s newfound skills seems prudent. Speaking of education, I must also convince my son’s mother that a prestigious boarding school awaits him, one that offers unique opportunities—though I suspect this will be a challenging sell.
Perhaps I could spin a tale about him attending Hogwarts, but my attempts at magic might fall flat. The real challenge lies in ensuring his little sister understands why her hero must temporarily depart. To her, he is irreplaceable, and any potential heartbreak he might face will likely be met with her fierce loyalty. After all, she once defended him passionately when I asked him to lower the volume on his gaming device.
Despite my occasional fears and their potential for mischief, it’s heartening to see how well my children look out for each other. It’s a testament to our parenting approach that they share such a strong bond.
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In summary, navigating parenthood is a complex journey filled with joy, anxiety, and endless love. My children’s unique personalities challenge me daily while simultaneously affirming that we are on the right path in raising them.