Before you, I was free.
I had my choice of the time of day I woke up.
My breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all prepared one serving at a time, strictly to my liking.
Privacy and choices were as abundant as air and light.
I was accountable for every decision I made, because I was the only one who had to live with their consequences.
Living life was comfortable, and that’s how I liked it.
I couldn’t imagine living anywhere but here.
Then, the news came.
Two red lines where there should be one.
In a split second, my definition of manhood disintegrated, and as the dust settled, all that remained was one word, that label of which I was informed I would become soon.
Contemplating this fork in the road, I wanted to be anywhere but here.
Before long, my freedom would inevitably fizzle.
I would have to wake up all hours of the night and early on the weekends.
My meals would be dictated by when you were hungry, eaten only after you were satisfied.
Privacy would become a precious commodity found only within the fortress of solitude that is a locked bathroom.
Choice would become a satellite orbiting your world, fully dependent upon your comfort, your safety, your wellbeing, and above all, your happiness.
Living life would forever become a complex web of neverending dilemmas, anxiety-ridden burdens, and seemingly incurable worries.
Now, that’s how I love it.
As a man, I helped make you a child.
As my child, you made me a father
Today, I can’t see myself happier.
Anywhere but here.