I Can't Help It. I'm a Dad

When I was a teenager/young man, I had more mothers than I could count. Something about me brought out mothering instincts all around me. I could not walking into church with my collar messed up. I would get part way into the building and one of the ladies would stop me and straighten it up. Thankfully in the days of leisure suits, I didn't have a tie to straighten out as well. Pointless sneaking past my biological mother because someone else was always there.

Well now the shoe is on the other foot. I recall working in a call centre and getting a call from one of the regular perverts (ladies hated him with a passion). He rarely talked to male agents but he was in a chatty mood. He went on how great it must be for me to work with all those young sexy women. I refrained from telling him what I thought of him (I could get fired for that). It all got me thinking though. I did have a lot of sexy young co-workers – all about the same age as my own kids. As I got to know them in the work environment, that's how I interacted with them as well. They needn\'t fear the lecherous leer from me. I offer something far more insidious. I give sage advice, they didn't ask for, tell stories of days gone by and tell clean jokes from a couple generations back (one of the guys where I work now calls my humour “dad jokes”).

In truth, I can't help it. I am a dad after all. I'm too old to be a big brother, too broke to be a rich uncle and too young to be a grandfather to them (which would probably be worse). While I try to keep myself in check, if I accidentally act like a parent, I'm sorry that's the best I've got.