I wonder when the tipping point arrives.
The point that turns a man who has never been a parent into a fully-fledged, card carrying grandfather.
Into a man who would lay down his own life for an auburn-haired boy who sweetly calls him Papa.
Into a man willing to put all decorum aside to get his long legs on the floor to race cars along the slick hardwood floor and play.
To pretend to play the bass and sing in this sweet boy’s band. .
Into man who digs holes, and climbs ladders, and tickles and chases.
Into a man who teaches about pounding nails into boards and mixing horse feed.
Into a man who beams with joy at the giggles and the words, “Do it again, Papa.”
Into a man who loves unconditionally.
Into a man who loves being Papa.
Oftentimes, blood lines are overrated.
You’re a family if you think you are.
Happy Birthday Papa!