On being a dad

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Being a dad has many fine points: pushing the swing just high enough that BOTH dad and daughter are a might nervous; telling the stories of Wanda the Wolf (who lives at 1 Cave Road in Circleville PA); encouraging the toddler to coast just a wee bit fast on her Burly MyKick Balance Bike and then convincing her the resultant skinned knee makes her look tough.  The list can go on.

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Photo taken 30 seconds prior to said skinned knee.

Perhaps though, the best part of being a dad is being able to better know my own father.  No trigger I can yet identify causes me to be thrown back to my own childhood, though from the vantage point of my dad:

  • Once, when holding my daughter’s hand I felt oddly nostalgic.  Seeing her hand in mine, I could see my hand in my dad’s when we would walk to the local diner for hot chocolate with whipped cream (now the Bistro at Haddonfield).
  •  Walking down a path in the woods, some combination of roots, rocks and ferns enables me to see myself, three decades prior, running down a similar path.

Just as my dad helped guide me as a child, these rare moments of role-reversal deja vu continue to guide me as a father.

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