God Bless Australia. This morning while on a super quick Target run, a little kid Tried to take me out with a big pink bouncy ball (good throw too, especially from a shopping cart). Her ridiculously hot dad apologized as I handed the ball back to him, saying this was her latest thing. I said no problem but thought to myself, “you could be my latest thing.” Jesus Christ, seriously? Why must you tease me like that–hot, Australian accent, and a caring dad, and totally unavailable to me. I have a hardcore thing for dads.
Let me explain. I’m famously a girl with daddy issues. My own father abandoned me. For most of my childhood we lived in the same town and he had nothing to do with me, emotionally or financially. Nothing. And he never has, ever. Nor has he ever expressed a single ounce of remorse. Growing up in a small town with a single Mom was no picnic. Kids are not immune to whispers and stares from adults. All my memories of my father involve rejection or some other form of pain. My most prolific memory is of making up a lie about him during a 5th grade lunch. Kids at my table were talking about what their parents do. When focus turned to me, I offered up that my Mom was a clerk at city hall, and stopped. When a kid asked about my dad, I said he was a construction worker. No doubt I’d seen it on some tv show.
So my entire life, I’ve been plagued by issues of abandonment. So when i see a guy who loves and dotes on his kid/s, and is a responsible, caring parent, it tugs on my heart strings. Automatically, that guy is a step above the rest because he is, in many ways, the thing that has eluded me my entire life. Yes, it indeed sucks to be such a cliché. C’est la vie.
But in the meantime, here’s to the hot dads.