Aiden has been spending more and more time with older men. It’s been a blessing to both of us, but mainly to him.
He wants it.
He needs it.
That rough-and-tumble-this-is-testosterone-territory, I-love-my-mother-but-this-other-person-TOTALLY-gets-me moment seems to be what he lives for these days.
I'm beginning to notice it more and more. And I've been doing something about it -- seeing to it that he spends more meaningful and productive time with other males.
But something happened a few weeks ago that made my heart sink.
My friend A, Aiden, and I were playing with his toys on the living floor of my apartment, and, in the midst of laughter and smiles, Aiden called him, “daddy.”
I didn’t make a big deal out of it, and I’m not even sure if A noticed the Freudian slip, but in that very moment, I felt sorry...
Sorry that I didn’t pick a better parenting partner to help raise Aiden; sorry that Aiden doesn’t get to call someone “daddy” every day; sorry that Aiden doesn’t have the security in a father that he deserves. Just… sorry.
That night, as I read Aiden a bedtime story, tucked him in, gave him sweet hugs and kisses again and again and again, and rubbed his back until he fell asleep, I vowed to have him spend as much time with other lovely male mentors as he needs.
He wants it. So badly.
And more importantly, he needs it. So badly.
It's so very crucial to his development.
It's up to me to see to it that it happens. I can't let him down.
I won't let him down.