These past few days, I’ve watched my father look after my son.
In my book, there were many things he didn’t do.
A woman’s core nature to never be satisfied I presume.

But.
He took cautious, slow steps to show his love.
He’s a burly man, outwardly firm, a booming voice and the one all the little children get scared of. Terrified actually. Even the naughtiest rug rats have always been scared of my Papa.

But.
You wouldn’t believe.
This old man, has given my son so many moments.
Showers.
3am wake up calls attended to.
Porridge for breakfast.
Jai Jai time.
Diaper changes.
Cuddles.
Pip-pip-gadi time.
Morning walks.
Bottles of milk.
And so much tenderness.

I can see so much patience in him.
I pretend I’m not around, or that I can’t see him.
So he can display his affections without any shyness.
I pretend I can’t be there.
So that he needs to be there.

And I realise.
All the past is forgiven.
For all the regrets he ever held, for every smack we ever got, for every time we were told off, he’s making up for it.
With our children.

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