Before the socially ingrained, borderline expected storyline of a deadbeat Black father dominates your thoughts, let me clarify the title.
When my son returned home, after spending a magnificent, adventure-filled summer in NYC, life has felt completely different for me. While I purposely avoid using the word, depression, I definitely slumped emotionally: his absent voice and laughter echo in my mind; I avoid going places that we’ve gone together; food tastes different; visiting my mom’s house feels void of that special something; I see parks or hear of new things that I could do with him and wish; constantly answering questions like, “How is he doing?” stings; I can’t stop reliving the fun we had; in a eye’s blink, I would tell anyone about him because his name alone makes my heart smile that big goofy kind of smile that one should be embarrassed about because all of your teeth and gums are showing but you simply love because those smiles are amazingly amazing and you cherish them…in between visits, talking on the phone and occasional Skype dates with him are my only reprieve. Yet, those moments undoubtedly leave me wanting more. Unfilled. I want to feel his body plump on top of mine when he gets tired; I want to carry his motionless, sleeping self from the car to the bed, wrestling off his clothes in order to wrestle on his pajamas; I want to combine taco and movie night to make him feel special; I want to play with toys on the floor; I want to listen to him read me a story; I want to help him with his math and writing skills; I want to remind him to wash his face after he brushes his teeth; I want to see him smile those heart smiles; I want to answer his persistent call of “Daddy.”
I woke up this morning, missing him as usual and thought to myself, I haven’t pined for someone like this since my last break up a few years ago. Hence, the title was born in that moment.