There is one word, one four-letter word that I want my girls to know, to hear, to speak, and to embrace.
Life. L. I. F. E.
A simple word with immense meaning and even greater implications for… well… life. But today, on this day and many in the past, it means very little.
There are remnants of your day everywhere: a pile of princess playing cards on my nightstand, Doc McStuffins on my dresser, shoes by the door. I can hear your voice echoing down the hallway in memory of you squealing in delight as you and daddy played.
But I have to apologize.
One of the roles of a Father is to teach his children. But I’ve spent the last few days reflecting on my childhood and I now realize that there are some things my dad never taught me.
Maybe you can relate?
In response to the horrific attacks on our fellow man in Orlando...
Hate knows no bigotry, no prejudice, no phobia. Hate hates all without mercy or distinction. In the heart of hate no love can reside save for the love of self.
I loved working. I loved my job. I really loved the company I worked for and the people I worked with. I was one of those people. Those people who thought staying at home when kids came along was unnecessary, certainly not for me, and maybe a little bit silly. I wasn’t an arrogant fool; I knew that, for some people, this was the best way to go. I just thought that for me I would be different.
I am smart, I am personable, I am educated, and I was good at what I did. I was proud of what I did and it defined me. We knew we wanted kids but it would take an act, or many small acts, of God to change my mind about what that would all look like.
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