Ella, the poor kid, looks like me, her old man.
It’s true, too. She has my nose, my eyes, my webbed toes. When she’s tired, those dark circles under her eyes are hand-me downs from my family. She fidgets like me, hates to sleep, like me. But she’s also a hell of a lot cuter, smarter and funnier than I ever was or ever will be, and it’s my job to help her become her own person.
I was 36 when Ella was born. It took me a while to realize that having a kid could be fun. And it took longer to find a compatible mate, Trish, who would also be a great mom. I’m a dad and a husband first. It’s what I like doing most. It’s what life is about.
Ah, but we have to pay a mortgage. I’m a former newspaper reporter, but newspapers aren’t what they used to be, so I’ve been serving my time as a PR flak the past fifteen years until I decide the best way to spend 50 hours a week. Work has led me to live in eight cities in six states (Texas, Florida, Alabama twice, Tennessee, Maine and North Carolina) since 1992, and the moving part has been exciting.
But I haven’t written full-time for many years. I miss it. And so I blog.