Building Dad: Journal Of A New Father

So there I was, enjoying those college years, drinking, partying, wearing the same clothes several days in a row. Cleaning my room meant throwing stuff off my bed onto the floor. Laundry was handled by the compression method. The weight of the clothes on top of the pile cleaned the clothes on the bottom. The sink had been full of dishes since the second day of the semester, and don’t even mention the bathroom. Those were Man years. No parents to yell at me, no wife to nag me, and certainly no children to provide for. I lived as our ancestors had, as a wild animal, responsible only for my own survival. I cleaned nothing, I laughed at responsibility, and I left the toilet seat up. I answered to no man. So then why am I currently walking around my house, picking up Littlest Pet Shop toys while a potty-training two-year-old yells from the bathroom, “Daddy, I NEED you,” a twelve-year-old volleyball star wants to know where she left her court shoes, and a ten-year-old artist wants my opinion of her latest masterpiece? All while listening to their mother tell me a story of her day at work. What the heck happened? This is my story.