I’m unwanted

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I love being a dad.


Like, I lovelovelovelovelovelove being a dad.

I love taking my kids trick o’ treating. I love guiding them on scary coasters. I love introducing them to great movies. I love tucking them in, I love long talks, I love comparing notes on different songs. I even love being a dad when my daughter and son misbehave. Because half the time disciplining them is a silly act, where inside I know I did the same stupid stuff when I was their age.


I digress.

As much as I love being a dad, I hate watching my children grow and start to distance themselves. I mean, it’s natural and important and age-appropriate, but it also stings. This week, for example, I’m home along with my daughter Casey, who’s almost 15. And this child who once ran up in her princess dress to hug me now seems to view me as a source of rides and money. She doesn’t really want to do stuff, save sit in her chair and text her friends. Again, it’s normal and understandable. But I’m here, and I’m not done wanting to be the involved and active father. I need her to say, “Daddy, let’s …”

But she doesn’t.

I love being a dad.

But, right now, it’s a little crushing.

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