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This is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.

Son, I’m back from the barber shop. I asked them to dye my beard gray, just like You said. I think it turned out pretty nice, but I know my opinion doesn’t matter. What do You think of the dye job, Son? 

Not gray enough? Are You sure, Son? Looks pretty gray to me. I look plenty older than You now. No one would suspect that W/we’re only nine years apart. 

Older, Son? You want me to go older? How much older? Erm, with all due respect, Son, I think I easily look 20 years Your senior. Definitely Your bearded old man, Son. Of course I am more than happy to do anything that pleases You, Son, but what more can I do to look older? 

This is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.

What am I looking at, Son? Who’s this a picture of? I don’t recognize him. 

It’s me? No way, Son. That’s crazy! He doesn’t look anything like me. He’s so small and young. Not an ounce of beef on him. And what’s with that haircut? Never seen anything like that, Son. What do you even call that? A fo-what? A fauxhawk? I guess that’s what the kids are doing these days. 

Now that you mention it, Son, I guess there is a little bit of a resemblance. This guy on your phone has my eyes, my nose. Maybe the forehead looks similar. Are you kidding me, Son? Playing a joke on Your old dad? 

This is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.

My police buddies started calling me fat. I outgrew three sizes of uniforms and ultimately couldn’t complete the obstacle course in the required time. First warning, second warning, final warning—I just couldn’t seem to drop the excess weight and get back into shape for my job. Nineteen years on the force, only one year away from retirement, and I got canned. Weirdly enough, losing my job wasn’t the scariest part. I was more scared about how my Son would take the news. 

He was so understanding. “Don’t worry, Dad,” He said. “I’ll find you a job in no time.” Then He put His arms around my belly and pulled me into a tight bear hug. Every concern I had melted away. Six months ago, back when my Son was just my boyfriend, He told me that when I became His dad, I’d never have to worry about anything ever again. 

This is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.

I still remember my old life. Sometimes I wish I didn’t, but that’s the way my Son wants it to be. He likes knowing that all my memories and intelligence are trapped inside this big, dumb body, wanting to get out but unable to. Every morning when I wake up before dawn and lay out His clothes for the day, I stop and think to myself, “What would I be doing right now if I’d never met Him?” 

I was a physicist, for Pete’s sake, tenured faculty at my university, just hitting my stride,  career wise. Another 10 or so years on this trajectory and I’d have earned myself a long, comfortable retirement.