Paternity

There once was a time when the simple owning-up-to-donating-sperm-toward-a-life, biological paternity, would have sent me into a frenzy. Now, fatherhood--parenthood--is my passion. Once I worried about my legacy--perhaps in print, prison records, or some heinous artistic expression--and I watched my P's and Q's accordingly (sometimes attending far too much to my pints and quarts, but that's another entry). Now, my legacy is my family, and I often double think what I say, write, and do in relation to how they may be molded by it now or how they may interpret it after I'm gone.

Yesterday, my 3 sons helped us paint interior rooms of our home. "Us" included a guy named Kyle, who was once (8-10 years ago) my little brother from Big Brothers/Sisters...and Kyle's wife. Several times I chided and joked with my boys, even called one a dork now and again, and I've since thought about that...are they going to have a complex, am I belittling them, when we are all joking and playing and one of these less-than-flattering words is bandied about?

On the otherhand, they are getting to paint with us. When my dad remodeled our home, even though I was a teenager for part of it, I was not invited and did not participate in any way in any aspect of the work. My boys have been swinging hammers (sometimes at each other, I admit) since they could heft them. Yesterday, though their work was not "finish work" per se, they did contribute meaningfully and they did have fun.

I think about what my boys have done with me that I have no memory of doing with my father, and the list is very long. It includes, but is not limited to: painting, cooking, computer games, go-cart driving, "big adventures," trips to the hardware store...

I guess I could be doing worse.