Father's Day Blues...
Last year, I went to a different church for Father’s Day, keen to avoid the big song and dance that usually ensues on the day at my regular one. Being a very single thirty-six year old bloke — a few months shy of turning thirty-seven — does put celebrations of fatherhood in perspective, the realisation being that that phase of life is at least eighteen months away for me. I suppose rather than bemoan my fate, I can ask myself the difficult questions, trying to wrap my head around why I am still a single bloke. To be honest, the year of being thirty-five was the one in which I most seriously began to think and see myself as a father. Still though, a couple of liaisons down the road, the sense is very much one of getting to the party a tad late. ...