During self-introductions a college student of mine once boasted that he’d fathered 11 children by 11 different mothers.
I normally avoid judgmental statements. Not this time. “Do you support them?” I asked.
“Uh, no!” he said with a grin.
“Then you’re not a real father. You’re a child abuser,” I replied. A period of awkward silence followed. Which normally bothers me. Not this time.
Fatherhood is being there. With your time. With your heart. With your paycheck. When it’s convenient, and when it’s not.
To all of the real fathers out there: I celebrate you!
To all of those who are not:
Man up and get real.