But that doesn’t mean my son is A-OK with not having his dad—a dad—in his life. I know he feels the burn and confusion and rejection and anger; it’s not fair. It’s pathetic.
Jack is nearly 7 and he asks about his dad sometimes, especially this week. He wonders what his dad is like and what his house looks like, if he likes pizza and tacos, and if his kids like baseball (because Jack loves baseball). It’s all very innocent and sweet and I answer his Qs the best I can.
I showed him a picture of his dad (he’s seen it a million times and they look alike). I easily answered that he likes pizza and tacos because I recall dining at Dos Caminos with him and of course grabbing NY slices on the go. As for baseball, I know nothing about my ex’s young kids, but I shared with my son that his dad is a really good runner and that Jack gets his fast moves and long legs from his dad. “Cool, Mom!” And then the conversation just diffused. Phew! It’s emotional to talk about my ex and remember things. To say nice things about him, when he’s never done a nice thing for Jack or me. But I have to. He doesn’t have to remember me or his child. Or be nice.
When Jack was younger, it was cute to call myself a mom-dad; even though I do all of the parenting on my own, I know that I’m not some filler for a real live dad in the flesh. Just this week, Jack told me how it was: “You’re a girl, mooooom. I made Father’s Day pocket protectors for Poppy, Uncle Carlo, and Uncle Bri. THEY ARE BOYS.” Yikes, but it’s the truth.
In the past, Jack has always given me a Father’s Day something with a little card, so this will be the first year he actually understands that his other friends aren’t giving their moms gifts this Sunday. I respect his choice and find it organic—and I’m so grateful he made presents for the cool guys in his life. Maybe one day he’ll want to make something for his bio dad.
Looking forward to spending the day at the Jersey Shore with awesome people!
