Sometimes it’s hard to remember that I’m someone’s dad. It’s even harder to remember that I’m the dad of two people. I pretty much feel like the same person I was fifteen years ago, long before I was a dad, back when my concept of “dad” was limited to my dad, who unlike me, actually was a dad. Then, somehow along the line, I became a dad. I’m reminded of this fact all the time, whenever someone cries or wants to eat or needs a diaper change.
But I don’t always feel like a dad, even in the face of so much compelling evidence.
Today, however, when the family went out for a walk around the block, I took one look at Alden and her footwear/sock combination, and knew, beyond all doubt or denial, that she is my daughter, and that I am her dad.
