It's Just What Daddys Do

I was maybe 12-14 years old and our dog escaped from the backyard. We couldn't find him anywhere in our neighborhood and finally we went down to check along the big street to see if he was down there. He was laying in the grass right by the street. I went to touch him to see if he was still breathing, if there was anything I could do for him. He was cold and stiff and I ran all the way home crying. After dad got home from work that night he went down and picked up our dog and brought him back. I remember sitting at home thinking, "I don't know if I can be a daddy; daddys have to do really hard stuff."

Now I know, it's just what daddys do. I make furniture so I had to make his box. He was my boy. I couldn't let anyone else carry him to the car or across the bridge. I was his daddy. I'm still a bit mistified that I could drive the screws into the top of his little casket myself, but now I know no matter how hard it is, it's just what daddys do.