The Kid With No Dad

Fridays are art day at my son’s school. Apparently, they made something for their fathers today. Picking my son up, he told me he made one for his grandfather because, and I quote, “I don’t have a dad.”

He said it rather casually. He didn’t even question why he didn’t have one. It broke my heart.

In his eight years of life, he never bothered me about it. Never asked me who his father was, where his father might be, or anything father related. It’s like he accepted at a young age that he is fatherless.

I understand he is still young. The questions may still come, later in life. I’m hoping it’s when he is way older that I could explain it better, more truthfully, than now because he wouldn’t understand. He doesn’t understand much about sex to begin with, but to tell him his father is the fuzzy memory after a night where I had a drug slipped into drink? He wouldn’t understand that at all. I barely understand it.

I’ve toyed with the possiblity of lying and saying his father died, but he might want names and dates. And I try not to lie to either of my children. I don’t want them to lie to me, so why would it be okay for me to lie to them?

I’m glad he is okay with having no father at the moment. It means I am enough for him. He does have a male figure in his life, his grandfather. Hopefully later on in life, when I finally do explain it to him, he’ll be understanding about it and not be scarred by it. He’s a tough kid now. Stronger than I could imagine. For now, and in the future, I’ll love him with all my heart and soul, in hopes of making up for an absent father.