Being a father makes me happy as a lark. I simply love being a Dad. It remains one of the most fulfilling things I’ve ever attempted to do. Attempted, as I’m still busy trying to figure it out. Winging it, so to speak. Fortunately for us, our little birdies haven’t flown the coop. They still snuggle under our wings. There has not been a need for them to spread their own. Wings, that is.
I am extremely proud of my kids. More than a peacock would ever be. Some years ago a little birdie told me that pleasant and good teenagers are as scarce as chicken’s teeth. Now that we’ve dealt with the birds and the bees, I’ve gained some understanding of what it’s like to live with teenagers and, if I have to talk turkey, I reckon that wise old owl had a bird brain. Some would argue that I shouldn’t count my chickens before they’ve hatched.
As ruler of our roost I know the love parents feel for children is everlasting. Eternal. It cannot be destroyed.
But there are some days when I watch my kids and get goosebumps. Moments when my heart randomly fills with an unexplainable feeling of warmth and satisfaction and love. And the warmth grows exponentially into joy that envelopes my soul and continue to grow until it burst through my eyes and explodes into the biggest smile I’ve ever had! *insert crescendo of music and opera and birds*
Like this morning.
Being a father makes me happy for I’m able to see two wonderful kids laugh and love and live. And who can argue with the glee factor of that?