And so it begins

Fatherhood

And so it begins

Long time no post. Just as well. Quick update? I’m older, my dad died in June 2016 which was inevitable as it is for everyone but still sucks goat balls and lastly I’m a dad. That’s right, a father, me. My wife and I adopted a little boy 3 years ago and he’s five, was born in London and is black. Never thought I’d be a dad at this age but as my friend Joe told me, ‘better an old dad than no dad’. Gosh, not used to doing the right thing but here we go; the big adventure. Considering one of my favorite pastimes is climbing frozen waterfalls my thinking was I can probably endure most anything. The problem with thinking like that is with climbing it eventually comes to an end, with raising a child the end comes when someone dies, in this case preferably me. I’ve come to love this little guy who is now my son I hope to spend as much time as I’ve got left being a part of his life. The lesson’s I’m learning are staggering! It’s crazy but I’m learning its one thing to adopt and raise a white boy but it’s not necessarily the same when raising a boy that’s black. In reality there’s no difference, a boy is a boy however it’s other people who like to think there is and will tell so much in ways that range from subtle to just down right ignorant. Examples I’ve heard from people some of which I’d like to think are friends? I tell them about him kicking off like all kids do and they come back with ‘is it because he’s black?’ Amazingly ignorant. Then I’ll take him to a play group and the white middle class mother running things is all smiles and welcoming then directs us away from the white kids and towards other children of color. In her mind she’s trying to make us feel comfortable but in reality of course she’s the one trying to feel comfortable. One of my favorites is when people ask where he’s from and I tell them he was born in London. They pause in an effort to process this because they were expecting me to name some country in Africa. Some even go so far as to want to know what his ethnicity is so I ask them if they’d like to hear mine first. This calls them out and before they can answer I tell them in America I’m considered Scotch/Irish. My family came over to America before the American revolution and settled in western Pennsylvania and even participated in the whisky rebellion. Me rambling on like this usually gets them to forget their original question. What’s great is my son has my last name so I guess by default he’s inherited all that as well. How cool is that? On the flip side I hope to expose him to as much as the origins of his ethnicity as I can to not just educate him but to satisfy my Idaho raised curiosity as well. Gotta go, he wants hard boiled eggs for breakfast.

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