“Any fool can be a father. But it takes a real man to be a daddy.”
And it’s so true.
Take Mr Wrong No. 2 – SC’s father. He’s the kind of man who thinks he’s wonderful and whose mother told him, obviously so very often that he actually believes it, that his father had taught him how to be a good father.
I beg to differ.
This is the man who took SC at 3 days old, after saying he was going to give him a hug, only to sit him propped up on cushions whilst he ignored him and continued reading his paper.
This is the man who spent most of SC’s first year totally ignoring him at the weekends. Instead of getting down on the floor and inter-acting he just totally ignored him and read his newspaper.
This is the man who gleefully watched me struggle carrying baby in car seat, bag of toys, changing bag and handbag down flights of concrete steps, whilst he swanned about with his newspaper.
This is a man who never once gave SC a cuddle. Even now he doesn’t when he comes on the ‘fortnightly state visit’, he doesn’t hug him, or kiss him.
This is the man who said, although his oh-so-amazing-brain has conveniently forgotten, that SC didn’t need him until he was about 8 or 9 years old.
This is the man who said we should go and live with my parents – probably so he could carry on with goodness-only knows what woman that particular week.
This man is not a father – he thinks he is but he isn’t.
He swans about, but in reality he hasn’t got a clue.
Take today, there was a fun day where we live, so I said for him to meet us there. SC loves the outdoors. He had a go at archery, watched the sheep being shorn, climbed inside the fire engine and tractors (several times) and then he found the straw!
Now, he decided a good idea would be to grab a handful of straw and throw it at Mr Wrong No. 2 – now most men who are great dads would get in the spirit and join in and throw some back.
But, oh no! Not Mr Wrong No. 2 he got the right hump. Stuck a face on him like he’d sucked a lemon to quickly and swallowed a pip, shook the straw off and crossly said “don’t do that!” whilst re-doing his Mr Baldy Man hair-do. SC’s face dropped like a stone, and from then on he was very quiet and subdued.
To be honest, my dad is the one who has been there for SC.
My dad is the one SC calls ‘daddy’ (bit weird I know, but he is the only male role model he’s really ever known). If I’m working and my dad has to pick him up from school he tells his teacher “my daddy is picking me up today!” As far as Mr Wrong No. 2 is concerned, he’s just some ‘friend’ who comes to ‘play’ (in the loosest sense of the word, if you can call sprawling over the floor for half an hour before he gets bored and then practically throws his phone with games on at SC to keep him from having to actually interact) occasionally!
My dad is the one who wrestles on the floor (I do too, I hasten to add) and we both kick the ball about the garden.
My dad is a daddy.
I know I’m a source of constant disappointment to him, but he’s my dad and he loves me (I hope).
He’s always there for me and I can always count on him if I need advice – my mum too but for different kind of advice.
He’s a great dad, he has been for me and now he’s a great role model for SC. (Although probably not quite what he envisaged doing in his retirement!)
In some ways, I’m also having to learn to be daddy to SC as well as mummy.
It’s a tough job.
I’m the one that goes off and does boys stuff with him – like cars and bikes and museums.
I’m the one who knows what he likes and dislikes, what gives him nightmares, and how rotten a time he’s having a school.
I’m dreading him growing up and me having to have ‘that talk’ with him. I’m hoping my dad will still be around to help out.
Thanks Dad – Happy Father’s Day