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Of fatherhood and imperfection

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Fatherhood is a very strange and alienating chapter in a man’s life. There are sacrifices to be faced and principles to be challenged in order to fulfill one’s noble duty of caring for the progenies whose future lies on one’s hands.

When I was young I used to see my dad as god. I’ve learned to distinguish what’s right from wrong based from his actions and admonitions. There are instances however when I’m put into confusion when he inflicts physical and emotional agitations. Later would I realize that his imperfection was an inevitable part of him.

I thought that being a husband alone was a difficult challenge, but being a father was far more. I am on a situation over which I should always yield. Unlike my relationship with my wife, I am but a slave to my children—and I have to stretch my understanding far beyond its limits. I have to see things according to their innocence and communicate in a language of subliminal in nature.

Caution however I have practice in the proper care of my children. Whence others would be carelessly generous when it comes to the wants of their child, I would be seek to be uncompromising when necessary. Where I may appear selfish and indifferent, I am in fact showing them love in ways that they will understand when their horizon widens. If for example my little boy would cry with no other reason than to satisfy his whim, I would not allow such manipulative gesture to conquer me. The reason for such is that I’m telling him that he cannot always get what he wants—no matter how much he wanted to. If I don’t teach him this simple wisdom at his tender age, he might grow up spoiled, irresponsible and impatient.

Still, I am not without fault. Lapses will continue to manifest no matter how much I try to be perfect. While I cannot display affection at all times, I try to give the best love I can think of for my children. There are times I may be absent, but such does not mean they are not in my thoughts. I may not hug them much, nor touch them more often, nor tell them stories, nor hear their convoluted stories, but I do what I can to be with them in their times of need. After all, such is where they can feel your love the most.

Perhaps when my time comes, I want my children to remember me as someone who have loved them on most days of their lives—despite some days where I have been cold and distant.

 

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