The Fear Of Becoming A Father
And the joy it brought me instead
I have never fully grown up. I’ll turn 30 this year in May, but I still think of myself as childish.
How could someone like me ever be a good father?
I look at my own father, a workaholic who’d always put his family before himself. He’d skip a joyful evening to keep us fed. He’d work overtime, get home late, sleep on the couch out of exhaustion. He worked in a coal mine since he was 17, then later he’d join a construction company as blue-collar worker. Carrying heavy stuff in burning summer heat, while his more fortunate coworkers got to drive around in air-conditioned excavators.
We never had much, but he gave his all to make sure that we keep the little we have.
He had a big stature. Even now, my hands fit into his palms. I’m nothing like him. So how could I ever be as good a father as he is to me?
This fear of failure nagged on me for the longest time. I thought I’d never want kids. They’re loud and noisy. They smear their dirty fingers all over the place. They drip and drool their saliva across the floor like badly trained bulldogs.
And I can hardly take care of myself. I’m lazy, I always put playing and joy before work and my mind shuts down completely if someone just mentions…
