The Knock Out Punch
I've got these two girls that turn me into fine china...fragile...something you need to handle with care. They make me more vulnerable than I'm comfortable with sometimes, and inspire humility in doses that rumble my foundation. They make me more proud and happy than I ever imagined was possible, and then torture me at times, leaving me frazzled and embarrassed...feeling like something much less than a good man. I miss them every second I'm not with them, every second.
I'm no different than any parent, I suppose, and my children are no better or worse. They are mine, however, and so I'm fractured into pieces when I don't hear their giggles, or when their footsteps in the hall don't wake me. I'm mortified by how mortal they make me...full of worry and regret, bursting with uncertainty and hope. It's impossibly perplexing what your own children can do to you. They render me a fool on most occasions. They make me cry. They make me smile. They make me wish I was a better person. I've taken some big punches in my life, things that changed the way that I looked out from behind my eyes, but I've never taken one that brought me to my knees like the one they've thrown.