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.
And my Son was right. He found me a great job in the guard shack of a parking garage downtown. The uniform was a lot more comfortable, and all I had to do was watch some CCTV screens and fill out a few forms each day. And the part-time hours made it easy for me to keep up with all my chores around the house. Son always liked when I wore my police uniform at home, but now He makes me strip out of my guard gear as soon as I step through the front door.
“I want to see that hot dad bod,” He says, and then slaps me on the butt. “Now get into the kitchen and start making Me dinner.”
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