I had my daughter twenty-six years ago. Her dad and I divorced when she was four years old. For the next sixteen years I was a single parent. I wanted a son but I had a very difficult pregnancy, so I was in no rush to go through that again. In addition to that I didn’t have a whole lot of faith in men. I didn’t trust that a man would stay with me through a hard pregnancy – and take care of me when I could hardly take care of myself. I knew that little boys love their moms different than girls do. I’d seen that between my sister and her two boys, and I wanted that for myself. But I just didn’t think it was in the cards for me.
Fast forward to seven years ago. I was in love with a man who wanted to marry me. He didn’t have any children of his own and wanted one. I knew if I was going to be with this man I’d have to consider having at least one child. After I got pregnant I was still unsure about how it would work out. But in time that changed. While I was pregnant with Mason I threw up constantly. Every single time I threw up I urinated (probably because I was nearly one hundred years old). Every time I threw up and urinated my husband Maurice cleaned it up. TMI? I now, but its true. I couldn’t work. I couldn’t do anything but sleep and try not to throw up. He never once made me feel like a burden. He took care of me and my daughter and never complained . Well, except that time when Taylor made a sandwich with some andouille he’d been saving. And to add insult to injury she had the nerve to say she didn’t even enjoy the sandwich. He was pretty mad. Too funny. Anyway, I learned to trust him to take care of me.
Well its been six years now and I trust him with my son, our son too. I know that if something happened to me Mason’s dad would take care of him and he’d be alright. His clothes would never be appropriate for the weather and they would never match. He would probably smell like outside all the time because his dad wouldn’t make him bathe regularly. His diet would only consist of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, sweet potatoes and banana’s. But he’d be okay.
He’d be better than okay. I’ve taught him what it is to have a mother’s love and caring – but boys need more. His dad can teach him things I could never teach him. He teaches him how to be a man by showing him what a man is and does. I only know how to be a woman and a mom. I wake Mason up with kisses and I love you’s. Maurice stands in the door and in a harsh voice tells him, “Mason, get up.” I thought he was being mean and asked him why he wakes him up that way. He told me, “The world is not always going to be kisses and sweetness and he’ll have to just get on with it.” He makes Mason do things that I sometimes think is harsh or he’s not old enough for. But Mason rises to each challenge. He likes to show his dad he’s a big brave boy and can do things for himself. He knows I don’t care if he’s brave and I’d carry him around on my back until he got taller than me if his dad allowed it.
So, happy Father’s Day Maurice, we’re blessed to have you. Mason has a good dad and I have a good husband.
And to you dear reader, until we meet again, smile, live, love and be grateful.