My father is a beekeeper.
Cancer, cookies... and a little boy’s first time visiting his dad in the hospital
That Thursday was a day of transition. My husband Steve, whose colon cancer had returned six months earlier, had already undergone 28 radiation treatments and still looked forward to 5 months of chemotherapy. But Friday was going to be the Big One. Doctors at Fox Chase Cancer Center in Philadelphia planned to completely remove his rectum and re-route his remaining colon to a permanent stoma in his abdomen.
This Manic Mama is back with an interview with the raddest of dads Tomas Moniz about his award winning zine and book Rad Dad: Dispatches from the Frontiers of Fatherhood.
Mike Park has been on the punk scene for twenty-five years, keeping it real and selling over 1,000,000 albums from a label located in his parents garage. Rocker, impresario, indie music heavyweight, and now a proud dad: This Manic Mama talks to Mike about parenting, music, and his new album SMILE.
Adam Pertman is a father, Pulitzer prize nominated journalist, and the author of several books on adoption. Adam took time to talk to This Manic Mama about the changing face of the adoption system.
I have become completely convinced that I am destined, in any arena where I judge others, to become those others. A karmic way of reminding me that my tendency toward judgment is really just a trick of perspective. And so this week I have become my adoptive parents. Watching my child marry and reproduce long before I am ready to accept it is even a possibility.
My dad gave me a gift. He taught me how to be with him without being with him. He gave me a space to feel safe. I am thirty-two. Eight years ago my dad died. I miss him something awful. I struggle with feeling safe in the world daily. I am fraught with panic; I often have a broken heart. I miss my daddy. But sometimes, when the world is quiet, I can find him using the map he drew for me all those years ago. I open my windows; I listen to the sounds of the earth; I imagine myself beside the soft orange glow of the propane heater and strain my ears until I hear the soft pitter-patter of his presses. I breathe in the cold air and connect to the space he created for me. I am safe. I am good in this world.
When I first found out I was to become a father, I was curious if there were any good books on fatherhood out there. Perhaps I was a little envious of my wife, who seemingly had a mountain of interesting, truthful, down-to-earth books on motherhood -- The Hipmama Survival Guide, The Mother Trip, Mothers Who Think, The Big Rumpus, and many others. I read all of these, but I wanted something of my own, something that talked about fatherhood in the language and experience of the world I lived in. But all I could find was Bill Cosby’s Fatherhood and related titles, and while I don’t have anything against the Coz, he just ain’t my style. He didn’t speak to me.
Someday I'll have to have the "where do babies come from" talk with my children. My oldest is five years old, and I try to work in basic plumbing information about uteruses, penises, eggs, and sperm. I've given him the basics about his parentage, which is a bit complicated. His biological father is not involved, nor is he interested in being. I am divorced from the Daddy he's known since he was born, and he lives with me and my partner, who functions as a step-parent to him.