Dad's Text Proves You're Never Too Old to Be a Parent
Dad’s funny text (Christine Coppa)
Seven years ago, I gave birth to my son, Jack — as a single mom (with no help from his father). When friends came to visit in those early weeks, we all joked that I would get to have my Eat-Pray-Love moment in eighteen years.
But that’s bullsh—t.
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Parenthood never stops. At least it doesn’t if I’m going by the example my parents set for my brothers and me. My mom is more laid-back, though fully in our lives —my dad, on the other hand, is overly involved, protective, and somewhat deranged (hehe). Even though he’s 66, and I’m 34. He proves that you never grow out of parenthood.
When I was in college in Philadelphia, he bribed the dorm security guards with trays of baked ziti to “watch” me. (To this day it is unclear if the guards called him with reports — I don’t doubt it.)
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When Hurricane Sandy was predicted to rip through New Jersey (and, ugh, it did), he showed up to my condo with enough (ew) canned milk for 7 years. (I had already bought provisions. Not odd milk, though.)
In January, I had to take a radioactive Iodine Pill as part of my thyroid cancer treatment. I was literally radioactive. My son and puppy had to move out and live with my brother because it wasn’t safe for them.
I had to quarantine myself for five days. (As a single mom, um, it wasn’t terrible. The side effects sucked — but I pretty much rested and watched movies.)
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My dad came to visit every day when I was quarantined and supposed to be isolated from humans (see, a little deranged). He wore gloves and a mask. Sometimes he kept the required distance and other times I’m pretty sure he was exposed to radioactivity (because he’s a crazy person and was like, “Want a hug?”).
Photo: Dad picking me up from the hospital after my first Thyroid Cancer surgery in August 2014.
And, unfortunately, fathers screw up. When my dad was incarcerated for a white collar, non-violent crime in 2013, he made us a surplus of homemade sauce and meatballs to keep in the freezer before going in — and doing his time with grace — getting released seven months later. That will not — and does not — define my father’s true character.
And as with all these stories, comes another — just this morning. Here on the East Coast, schools are closed, there’s a blizzard, and I’m working from home with no intentions of driving anywhere — because I’m a 34-year-old responsible mother, grown woman, adult ….
My dad texts me every single morning and FaceTimes his grandson on his iPad before school (which is super cute, since Jack’s dad isn’t around at all).
Photo: Poppy and Jack
When I heard my phone ting at, um, 6:53am, this is what I found … from dad:
I just had to screw with him. I hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet.
He always leaves me voicemails which is just … NO. Who leaves voicemails?
(Example VM) Dad: “Christine, call me back. It’s an emergency.”
Me: “Hi, dad” (knowing already everything is FINE.)
Dad: I made a lasagna. Do you guys want to come for dinner?
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