true love...

i'm at a point. a point that i'm afraid of a lot of things. so many things weighing on my mind, and so little outlet. even this site can't be an outlet for some things. but one - one i guess i can let go...

parenting. i'm afraid of it. not because i don't know what to do (well, i don't. but who does?). not because i don't think i can raise my son to be a good person. not because of so many of those things that the world would think a dad would be afraid of...

i'm afraid of my son not understanding how much i love him.
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i didn't have the smoothest of childhoods. i lived with my mom for 10 years and rarely saw my dad. then i lived with my dad for 8 years and rarely saw my mom. i adored my mom - she was the person i knew for so long - and i couldn't see her flaws. my dad and i fought for a long time - i was the oldest, i wasn't perfect, there was always the threat that i could be shipped back to life with my mom. my dad told me one day when i was in my early teens that my mom didn't really want me, but that's the way custody worked out. it broke my heart. and from where i stand today, i suspect he regrets it...

it wasn't until the second semester of my junior year of high school that my dad and i finally got along. i don't know why it worked out that way - all my friends were going in the opposite direction with their parents. but at that point, i felt like i had finally made it... made it to the family - no threats, just love. and acceptance. but mostly love...

now please don't get me wrong. my dad is a great man. perhaps not the best at expressing emotions. but he is a rock. he went through the infidelity just like i did, and he never mentioned it to me. and he is the man that i want to be...

except for one thing. and this is what i'm afraid of when it comes to ian...

i remember my high school graduation day very well. the ceremony is cloudy. the after-party cloudy too. what i remember clear as a bell is coming home from the ceremony and walking in the door and my dad greeting me at the top of the stairs. he said to me: "i'm proud of you and i love you." and that is the first memory i have of my dad telling me that he loved me...
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i tell ian that i love him every day. so many times that some people might think i'm over-parenting. that i'm soft. but, dammit, i love that kid. love him more than i am capable of loving, it seems. yet i am afraid, day after day, that he's not going to understand that. being a single parent is a lonely and frightening thing - but moreso, i think, when you were raised that way. and i don't make up for that by showering ian with gifts or feeding him bad food. i do get mad, and i do discipline. but above all else, i remind him incessantly that i do, in fact, love him...

and i'm still afraid that it's not going to be enough.