I didn’t grow up with my father. We didn’t find out about each other’s existence until I was 13, and it would be another year before we actually met, and then another before we fully got to know each other. We have a marvellous relationship today, we speak several times a week and I often ask him for advice. There’s little censorship in our relationship and I tell him way more than most tell their parents. In short, having a dad is much better than I ever thought it would be.
But apart from a two-month stint, we never lived together. The only father I’ve lived with is my partner, H. Most things I’ve learnt about parenting (even though I’m not a parent myself) I’ve learnt from him. It is wild to me how he makes parenting seem easy when actually, it’s really, bloody hard. Although he is the busiest person I know, he somehow always finds the time to manage a household with three equally busy and ambitious kids. Through his parenting, he’s teaching me about patience, unconditional love, kindness and sincerity. I never thought I would date, let alone live with someone with three (!! THREE!) children, but it is a blessing in so many unpredictable ways.
Which is why I loved celebrating Father’s Day this past Sunday. I started out with no father in my life, and somehow ended up with two phenomenal ones. Wow.