Thoughts on becoming a dad for the second time
So a long time ago, when I was much younger (22), much poorer and knew a lot less than I do now, I fell for the wrong girl, and in spite of all the good advice being dished out by those around me, I got married, adopted her son (Tom) and then quite soon afterwards found myself the single dad of Tom, who was then aged 4 (and later divorced).
Long story short, I feel blessed to have ended up with such a wonderful son, and truly believe that I was put there to give Tom the life he now leads.
So it was Tom and me in a tiny townhouse in Bedfordview, and suddenly I had to learn all about parenting. I’m sure there were sacrifices and tough times, but the mind is a wonderful thing – and all I remember was 5 amazing years during which Tom and I became as close as I reckon any father and son have ever got, had a ton of fun, and a lot of rushing to school and from work and everywhere in between. Thankfully there was Nanna (my mom) and Ouma (my gran) who willingly played Tom’s foster mothers as often as they were needed.
Being a single and a young dad meant some awkward moments… like the endless Satuday morning kiddies birthday parties – with a load of moms (who all know each other) and…me. Tom soon became the independent kid whose dad dropped him at the begginging of the party, and fetched him at the end, avoiding the awkwardness of tea and
gossip cake with mommies for dad…
The two of us travelled a lot then too, all over Sothern Africa and to the UK and Europe. Travelling alone with a cute young boy has its perks – like upgrades to Business Class which I’m convinced were a result of Tom sweetly asking the check-in ladies if we could sit in the big seats near the front. It may just have been coincidence and good luck – but seeing as I haven’t been upgraded since – I thank Tom 🙂