Being A Dad - Original Poem by SJones

Being a Dad

Being a dad isn't easy.

I get mad. I get sad.

Changing your bum can test my patience, while you wriggle and twist, cry for Mammy, and somehow find the strength to turn a simple nappy change into an Olympic sport.

I throw myself across the room like a goalkeeper, stopping you from touching the things you shouldn't touch. You don't care. You'll try again anyway. "The switch, Dad. Press it. I like it."

I stop you eating the strangest things. A plastic bag? That Looks delicious.

A door? Mmm that's worth tasting.

A cupboard? Worth slamming.

Again. And again. And again.

You explore the world, with fearless curiosity. I follow behind, trying desperately to keep you alive.

And while you're busy discovering everything, I'm busy questioning everything.

Am I a good dad?

Am I doing enough?

Why didn't I do that? Why don't I do this?

I worry about all the things, I can't teach you.

I can't ride a bike. I'm not sporty.

What good am I to you?

What if other dads are better? Do they feel like this too?

Or am I the only one lying awake, wondering if I'm enough? Sometimes I feel numb. Disconnected. And then comes the guilt.

Why don't I feel closer? Why am I struggling? Do I love my son?

The question hurts, because I already know the answer. Of course I do.

I love you in the way, that makes me worry endlessly.

I love you in the way, that makes me doubt myself.

I love you in the way, that makes me afraid of failing you.

And then you laugh.

I sneeze, and you nearly fall over laughing. I accidentally hit myself on the head with a poster tube, and you're gasping for breath. I fart, and suddenly I'm the funniest person who has ever lived. You point at plugs, with a mischievous smile.

I say no. You grin. I say no again. You grin wider. Eventually you get bored, sit on the floor, and set off to find another adventure.

You are ten months old. You crawl like a rocket. You stop, look over your shoulder, checking if I'm chasing you. And if I am? Turbo mode.

You take a few wobbly steps, and my heart nearly bursts. Ten months old, already doing things I couldn't do at your age.

I bum shuffled. I crawled. I was born with a broken leg. Yet here you are, determined to run before you can walk.

I want to give you everything.

The world. Every opportunity. Every chance to be happy. But the world scares me.

I remember my own childhood.

The bullying.

The anxiety.

The mistakes.

The freedom.

Diving into rivers.

Fishing with friends.

Exploring without fear.

And somewhere along the way, I became more aware, of pain, of consequences, of how fragile things can be.

Now the world feels louder. Faster, Crueler, The internet never forgets. Bullies no longer need a playground. A phone can place the entire world, in a child's pocket, And not all of that world is kind.

I want to protect you from everything. But I know I can't.

One day, you'll have to step into it yourself. And that terrifies me.

Being a dad isn't easy.

There are moments of joy, moments of pride, moments that make my heart soar, But too often, all I hear is my own self-doubt.

The voice asking whether I'm capable of raising this incredible little human.

Then you shout, "Dada!"

And suddenly none of the doubts matter.

Because you don't need a perfect dad.

You just need me.

And every day, I'll keep trying, to be enough.