Dad or dud?
I read a few weeks ago in some magazine that a man was suing his girlfriend for getting pregnant. Well, this is every pikot-ee’s dream around the world. The man, who was previously married, had also fathered two children during his erstwhile marriage. He made it clear to his new lover that he did not intend to have children ever again. She agreed to terminate the pregnancy if this, by any chance, occurred. Thus ensued their godless romance.
The woman (surprise!) got pregnant a few months later and they terminated the poor child. Proving her fertility intended to put up a fight, she got pregnant again a few months later. Seeing this as a sign from God, she decided to keep the child, much to her lover’s dismay — and behest. They split up and the man left with a glaring suspicion that this was a classic case of sexual entrapment. A few months later he was served with papers for child support. It was then that he joined this curious legal group that was out to protect men from random jezebels who are looking for a baby daddy. Some issues they raise are quite valiant, like having a say on what happens to the surprise fetus. Some women just choose to terminate or opt for adoption without conferring with the man. “Hey, it takes two to tango” is their gist. Singing a different tune to the same song are those men who do the moonwalk when the stick goes positive. Men. The most jarring thing in this whole drama was that the artful dodger of a man in this story was called the “father.”
A man who failed to own up to his actions is not worthy to be called a father. It takes a lot for men to be actually called “fathers” and even a more condensed lot to be called “daddies.” Meanwhile, this baby will grow up with a Pandora’s Box full of daddy issues (think George W. Bush for boys and Tatum O’Neal for girls) and probably end up a mess. The very men who helped in the conception of these doomed children are not worthy of being called fathers.
It’s funny how you need to take a test for everything. A driver’s license, pilot’s license, diving license, dermatology, high school, cosmetology and yet there are no tests to monitor the aptitude of every feckless man on becoming a father. It’s a free for all when it comes to the most important role in civilization. We even have books on how to be a good husband for expectant mothers; but seriously, there is not a decent book out there on how to be a father. There are examples, though. Francis Ford Coppola, because he named his “wine in a can” after his daughter and cast her in The Godfather, which may have compromised what is inarguably the best trilogy of all time. Bruce Willis is another, because he sucks it up for his kids and goes to awards show with Ashton who could actually be his son. (Bruce was rewarded with a hot second wife.) The late Senator Cayetano, too, because his kids were actually fighting over who would get to give their internal organs to him. That’s a sign of being golden. He was rewarded with daughter Senator Pia Cayetano, which our country benefited from as well.
Then there are the Hell Dads. P. Diddy who refused to pay child support for his pampered kids, kicked out of the penthouse along with Trophy Wife T-100. Ryan O’Neal, who got all bitchy when his daughter won an Oscar at 10 years old and later introduced her to drugs and the occasional ménage à trois with his friends. And every other dad that simply forgets he has children. I won’t even expound on this with incarnations.
A father is a figure of authority and protection. A daddy is all about love and support. Those May-December chicks? Daddy issues. We all want that shade, the masculine emotional umbrella who will protect us from greasy men, frenemies and bad grades; who will tell us that it’s okay to get dumped (and that it’s always his loss), that every day is a good hair day and that, while you may commiserate with bawling brats and sagging tits, you are still his little girl.
My dad always told me when I was young that he wished I would never grow up. He wished right, judging from my police lineup of ex-boyfriends (save for a few). However, through all my ups and downs in growing up, he has always been a total daddy. He has made me kinder to men (Fiancé, please thank Daddy for me being nice to you) and was the Liquid Paper to all my insecurities. My ultimate daddy would be my grandfather, who kind of ruined it for many men and me (Fiancé, you can blame him for my high expectations). He was pure devotion and blind love. It was nice to have both. I had both a taste of real and fantasy paternal experiences.
Even Fiancé’s father is golden. I’ve always been enchanted by fathers who talk about books and history. My dad is great but he likes to talk fashion; I like learning dads, the brainy kind you can show off to all your friends. Like a Gwyneth Paltrow. For the dubious ones who think I’m brown-nosing, let it be known that I’m not big on parents. When my mom asked me, when I first got engaged, if I was sure of Fiancé for real and forever, I said “I truly love him and also his parents are awesome.” An Aurora Borealis of revelations that shocked my mom, as she knew I didn’t really “do” parents. I didn’t even meet my ex-boyfriends’ parents unless it was necessary. I feared in-law paralysis. This, of course, was a blessed case!
Fathers. They can come to you in different ways — some, if you’re lucky enough, as your real father; others as inspirational father figures; others as the fathers you wish you had. So if you have daddy issues, stop dating that lolo and just open your eyes to find that emotional umbrella.
Until then, YouTube the trailer of Sofia Coppola’s new movie, Somewhere, to see what daddies are all about. I’m a sucker for daddy movies.
