Fatherhood : Kiss My Son

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Children Stories  |  House: Booksie Classic
What it means to be a real man ...

Submitted: June 07, 2017

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Submitted: June 07, 2017



Fiction :



"Dad", Kibbsparticus tapped me on the shoulder while I was watching the mixed martial arts fight.



"Daaaaad", he tapped my shoulder a bit harder in order to get my attention. I turned to him.



"What are you wearing?"



"Let's talk mano- to - mano", he said in his navy-blue three piece suit. I was about to correct his Spanish, until I noticed that he had also shined his shoes, and thought it best that I remain silent until questioned. If someone takes the time to shine their shoes, you know they mean business.



"So, last week was my birthday and after turning nine, I have spent a lot of time thinking about our relationship. I am sorry dad, but I can't allow you to kiss me anymore. I just learned that I'm almost a full decade now. A few more of these and I'm like a century, so I have to prepare for that now. I'm basically a man now. So, you also kinda have to treat me like one."



I stared at him. Part of me wanted to laugh out loud. This scene looked absolutely ridiculous. Here was a mini-me in a three-piece suit, with impressively shiny shoes, who's legs dangled from the forest green lazy-boy couch. This was wild. But I did not argue. I stood up, shook his hand, and agree to his demands.



"Nice talking to you, Kibbs", he said.



" I would prefer Mr. Fortilus", I told him. "We'll organize your pay and discuss everything in detail tomorrow morning. You can go to sleep whenever you feel like it. Have a wonderful night, Mr. Fortilus."



And that ended the evening. But part of me knew this would only get better. For me.



The next morning, I woke up and walked to his door out of habit. Kibbsparticus always oversleeps and I always have to knock on his door to get him up. I quickly changed my mind and decided to head to the kitchen and fix breakfast - for myself. As I strolled down the stairs, I heard his alarm clock ringing, him groaning, and his hands knocking down the lamp on his desk and he searched desperately for the snooze button.



He ran downstairs frantically forty minutes later. I was done with breakfast.



"Mr. Fortilus, I am sorry but I cannot drop you off at school today. Because you woke up late, you will have to fix your own breakfast, and I left you money to take the bus to school. Now, this money is a loan. This means that you are borrowing it and you will pay me back later. You don't have a job so you will clean Mrs. Fortilus' car today to pay it off. Also, because you are a man now, I have to pay you more for doing your chores. You will be getting 3 € instead of 1 € for doing your chores everyday. Use that money to buy your lunch. Your mom and I will no longer make your breakfast and lunch. Have a wonderful day, Mr. Fortilus."



I shook his hand, his handshake was like a dead fish, probably because he was still half-asleep, and I skipped out of the door singing "Sorry" by Justin Bieber.



I arrived home and saw that my wife's car was sparkling. I wanted to head up to Kibbsparticus' room and thank him, but my wife told me he was sleeping. Apparently, he felt stressed, rushed, and overwhelmed today.



Six weeks later, and after he had made several mistakes, Kibbsparticus seemed to be settling into a routine. To be honest, I was surprised he had lasted this long. And then, it happened.



Kibbsparticus came back home with a band-aid on his arm. He sat down on the couch and recounted the tale. He fell on his bike on the way to the boxing gym.



"I was just heading to the boxing gym to do a few rounds after wrestling practice. I wasn't looking and ran into a stop sign. I fell off my bike and rolled on the cement. It hurt. It really did, dad. Part of me really wanted to cry. But I saw a few of the kids from school and they told me that real men aren't suppose cry. I was really confused 'cause I didn't know what to do with the pain. Real men aren't supposed to cry, right dad?"



"No. 'Fake men' are not supposed to cry. But real men are humans. And humans cry. And son, you are a human being. Being a man does not mean that you ignore these human feelings. It means that you embrace them without fear. Son, you are human. Humans cry, laugh, are angry, and most importantly, they can fearlessly express love and affection. Don't ever let being a "Fake Man" ruin your idea of what it means to be human. Always choose to be human, son. And never apologize for being human."



And with that, he hugged me tightly and wept. I could tell that he had been holding back these tears the entire day. Before he let go, he kissed me on the cheek and told me he loved me.



I got my son back.



- End.



Happy New Years everyone. This story was inspired by a Facebook post about "Toxic Masculinity".


I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave your thoughts in the comment section below.



Read More :



New book, "Sober Reality : Cry Standing".


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Live with Intent.


New Year. Same Swag.



- K.S. Fort 

© Copyright 2019 K.S. Fort. All rights reserved.

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