We don’t really celebrate Father’s Day in my family. We don’t really celebrate any of that stuff.
But since everyone is sharing photos old photos of their dads, I thought I’d jump on the bandwagon. Okay, I did promise no more photos of him on the internet. But this one doesn’t count! Because, really, it’s about me. I mean look at that smile.
Try and tell me that is not the world’s most self-satisfied child! Good lord! Could I smile any bigger? (I’m pretty sure the answer is “not without hurting myself”.)
Good lord! Could I smile any bigger? (I’m pretty sure the answer is “not without hurting myself”.)
I may have to revisit my belief that I was hard-done-by as a kid… because I simply do not see it here. Not one tiny little bit.
I figured I’d also add, in honour of Father’s Day, that when I was really little my Dad was my primary caregiver. He even stood-in for other people’s fathers at times too. So while we don’t actually celebrate Father’s Day. If we did, he’d have extra bonus points.
Here’s an exemplary photo of my father parenting. He’s reading Dani to sleep. Dani is the little one who is wide awake. Dad, well, he’s the other one.
Happy Father’s Day Dad. Even though I know (or at least hope) you aren’t reading this.
If you are reading this, don’t yell at me about it: I’m sharing a lovely story and you are lucky to have me. (And I am lucky to have you.)