What of the men who don’t know they’ve become fathers? The fathers who could be – want to be – if given the chance. With this issue we err on the side of neglect, of dead-beat dads, of abusive and uninvolved men. These are not most men.
The first time he set foot in the room, he walked directly to the kitchen, grabbed a pan, and made scrambled eggs for a doll. He’s going to be very popular.
I so want to be the perfect father. I want to be a source of strength and wisdom for my son; I want to show him unfailing love and generosity; I want him to be able to depend on me, and trust me, and know how important he is to me.
Max and Ruby are brother and sister. Max is three years old, Ruby is seven. They are also rabbits: ‘Max & Ruby celebrates the triumph of the individual against the impossible odds of being little… What goes on in the mind of a three-year-old boy is very different from what goes on in the mind […]
Ian: ‘Ian a pirate!’ Daddy: ‘Oh, you’re a pirate?’ I: ‘Yeah! Daddy is Thomas.’ D: ‘Me? Daddy’s not Thomas. I thought Mommy was Thomas.’ I: ‘No, Daddy’s Thomas!’ D: ‘Who’s Mommy, then?’ I: ‘Mommy is a lemon!’ D: ‘A lemon? Mommy’s a lemon?’ I: ‘Noooo. Mommy is a…lady! Mommy’s a lady! Daddy’s a man!’ D: […]
Ian slowly brought the cookie toward his open mouth…and stopped. He closed his mouth, and relaced the cookie on Anna’s napkin. And took the cookie again. And put it back. If Woody Allen were to rob a bank, I imagine it would look like this.
In a concerted effort to make others feel more welcome, Ian now addresses people by their common nouns. If he doesn’t know someone’s name, he’ll use the next best thing: man, lady, cat, dog. Kelly said that yesterday a woman jokingly asked Ian where his mother was (right next to him). She received an enthusiastic, […]
It will come as no surprise when I say that boys are naughty. We start at one-year-old, and we never stop. I once wrote about Ian’s naughty tells, about how he would give himself away before actually doing anything wrong. His poker face has improved, and he’s now on the offensive.
By: Barbara Crooker, Radiance A black and yellow spider hangs motionless in its web, and my son, who is eleven and doesn’t talk, sits on a patch of grass by the perennial border, watching. What does he see in his world, where geometry is more beautiful than a human face? Given chalk, he draws shapes […]
…
You are far away,
beyond reach of whispered
amends…
‘Nursery, 11:00 p.m.’, by Robyn Sarah