Another attempt
Here I am again, another attempt at making sense of it all. Wondering what it's all about. I have to be the man of the house. I have to be the strong one. At least in the eyes of my children. My son, who has recently started secondary school, looks up to me. I am constantly at war with myself in an attempt to meet the expectations he has of me as his father. The same has to be said about being the father my daughter needs me to be. Through her five year old eyes, and in her five year old mind, I can do anything. I can fix anything, make things right in this scary sphere we call life. It's at times like that, when she looks up at me with her beautiful big eyes, and skin, silky smooth, unblemished by the ravages of existence, that I wish I had a disclaimer, ready to hand. Something tangible I could give her, to let her know, I don't know it all, I can't fix everything, or always make things right. This, however, I suggest, to me at least, would be the cowards way out. A