Explain to me why they never told me these things before I became a father.

How I felt when I saw my first daughter seconds after she was born. This must be what it feels like to meet angels.

Driving home from the hospital and looking in the back of our Mercury Monarch. See that little baby strapped in the car seat. That was darn nice of the hospital to lend us one of their babies.

Hearing the squeaky cry start soft at first in the middle of the night and grow progressively louder.

Baths in the sink.

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I never knew how it would feel when you grew up.

Lessons in physics from sick little children.

When they hold your hand everywhere.

When they stop holding your hand.

Holding up five fingers during trips. In theory, it means five minutes until our next destination. In reality, I stretch  it to 15 minutes.

The first day of kindergarten, the first walk to the desk and the reassuring smile from the teacher.

Folded cards on multi-colored construction paper with a scrawled “I love you, daddy.”

Sniffing out the giggling voices hiding under the bed covers.

Sitting on the curb together with white puffy clouds racing by above us.

When playing together turns to “hanging out.”

Louder music.

This is music?

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One of us did cry when you returned.

Dad, you don’t know what you’re talking about.

Whatever.

You’re wearing THAT!

The deep, uneasy feeling when I know I acted like a jerk.

“You will never believe what your son is doing.”

The quivering voice and the tear trickling down the cheek.

Closing one chapter and beginning another.

Closing one chapter and beginning another.

Honor rolls.

Teacher phone calls.

I promise I won’t cry when you leave.

Will I cry when you come home?

Oh, I get it. I have to experience fatherhood for myself.