You’re probably wondering why there’s a picture of a fox on your screen, and what it has to do with this post.
Welp. I don’t know, really. I was looking at something that might go well with the topic, and since I couldn’t come up with anything, I settled on a cute pic of a young fox. A child really. I guess that’s the point.
My son is ten months old, almost eleven, as I write this. Today, he just said his first real words. Hi dada (which counts, in baby speak, especially since he repeated it on demand). He also tries to say “hot”, which is what I tell him when he tries to grab my coffee mug. I’ve never been so proud of something in my entire life. It amazes me that it’s possible to love someone so much in such a short period of time, automatically.
I think about how small he is, and how quickly he’s grown in such a short time period. Just January he was born; he’s crawling now. I try to spend time with him every day.
If ever we need a reminder why we do the things we do, it’s for our families. Our loved ones. I think about the things I pursue – writing, as my example – I do it because I love it, of course, but that isn’t always enough. Why not? Because I am a father.
To do something for one’s self is selfish. Parents no longer have that luxury, despite anything they say. Everything a parent does from the day they conceive a child has to revolve around that little person. Bringing him or her into the world is the absolute most important thing a person can do. Raising that little person to be an adult, a responsible, thriving adult, is no mean feat.
I’m not knocking hobbies or things done to blow off steam here, and I’m really just speaking for myself. A lot of times the things I write on this blog are just for me. It’s my way of documenting something so I won’t forget. Also to keep some accountability.
For me, because I want to write for a living, I can’t afford to screw around, pretending I’m doing this “just as a hobby”.I want this thing to give me Freedom with a capital F. Freedom to stay at home and watch my son grow up, kick a soccer ball around with. (No football!) I want to see him play his first game, first piano lesson, first recital. I want to teach him all the things I think I can give him to prepare him for the larger world out there. Most of all, I just want him to know that his dad loved him. And that, my friends, is why I toil on.
I’m done screwing off. Back to writing.