When I was born, babies were kept away from families for awhile. Even the mother didn’t have a lot of time with the baby right after birth. For the most part, the babies spent their time in a nursery, separated from visitors by a huge sheet of glass.
I’m one of those babies in the nursery above. I’ve been told that I was the one on the front left, but I can’t be sure of that. The man you see reflected in the glass — the one in the short-sleeve dress shirt and tie — was my father. For days, he couldn’t hold his first-born child — and I’m told that he spent hours watching me, just like this.
My father could be a very loving man at times. Because I had to go so many years without being able to talk about his terrifying narcissistic side, you’ve heard me speak quite a bit this year — since he died in April — about the awful side of growing up with him.
But when I look at a picture like this from my baby book — with him longing to hold and love his new son — it breaks my heart, because it reminds me how much he wanted to love me and how much he wanted me to love him.

‘This path leads to somewhere I think I can finally say, I’m home’
Economic Man needs no heart, because love and God are dead
How do we start over and give ourselves parenting we needed?
Life is a game of hide-and-seek; we’re lost if we no longer seek
FRIDAY FUNNIES
If your own life is all messed up, lecture others about fixing theirs
Unless your spirit’s been broken, your flaws will always be hidden
If Ron Paul was ‘our last hope,’ what’s your backup plan now?
By end of Pooh movie, I wanted to stay in the Hundred-Acre Wood