I’ve been “Dada”–from that first awesome moment when my son first spoke. Of course, when I found out I was going to be a dad, I really didn’t care too much what my child called me. (I say child as we waited to see the sex of the baby until birth.)
As long as it was a form of “dad,” I was cool with it.
Now, at the age of 2.7, he has started calling me “dad”–every once in awhile. And, I have to admit, I hate it. I still want to be “Dada.”
I knew this wasn’t going to last forever. But, at 2-years-old? Can’t he wait until kindergarten, or college ? I mean, heck he is growing so fast, changing so much. Can’t I, at least, hold on to that?
Why do I care whether he calls me dad or dada. He still calls for me. He wants me around! Shouldn’t I be happy with that?
Well I am not, as “Dada” is my title–one I wear proudly.
It is the one that makes my son sound younger. He sounds like my little boy–my baby.
I want to be called “Dada”–because the longer I am “Dada,” the longer he will be my baby.
I am not ready to be “dad.” I am not ready to give up my red badge of courage, as facing that I do not have the courage or desire to be anything but “Dada.”
As, Mark Twain put it, “A round man cannot be expected to fit in a square hole right away. He must have time to modify his shape.”
I need a little more time to adjust to this new title, and yes it may take years, but I am the parent! Didn’t I earn a little bit of time?
Alas, time and a 2-year-old waits for no one (unless, of course it’s dark and he’s afraid to go further; then, yeah, he will wait).
The days of being “Dada” are becoming fewer-and-fewer. My title is changing into Dad, just as my son is changing before my eyes. Minute-to-minute, hour-to-hour, day-by-day.
It is the nature of things (I know). The reality of it… doesn’t mean I have to like it!
John F. Kennedy said, “For time and the world do not stand still. Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or the present are certain to miss the future.”