Look, I am not a writer. I won’t do this perfectly, nor will I even try to. I won’t be someone that the world of Medium tunes into to read what Kevin has to say. I mean, I’ve never been that guy. It seems as though I’ve never entirely knocked it out of the park. Earlier today, with some other parent friends, I was sharing how kids in school started calling me “Gay” as early as 4th grade. That continued until, well, if we consider the world we live in, it’s never stopped.
And I don’t want to hear that bullshit, “Oh, being gay today is widely accepted… blah blah blah.” because guess what? No, it’s not! And beyond that, the oppression that my generation and many before me experienced sticks with us forever. That is precisely why I’m sitting here at 37 years old, sharing with you how when I was in 4th grade, kids called me Gay. But that was then, and this is today. Today I am happy.
I’m sitting in my bedroom in Los Angeles, CA; on a full-sized bed I was forced to downgrade to (more on that at a different time — don’t worry, we will get there). My son is asleep in his mini crib about 4 feet from me.
Wow, simply writing that brought butterflies to my stomach.
Bedtime this evening was more difficult than usual. Usually, a bath commences, followed by smiles and laughter. At the same time, I get a diaper draped over his tiny tush and PJs zipped up. We do a lot of talking to each other. Me making silly noises and eating his belly and arms while he laughs back uncontrollably. Oh, shut it; he loves it. And so do I, if I’m being honest. Who would have imagined that Kevin Gerdes would put his son to bed on a Saturday night, just he and I, both smiling for days?
After the PJs are on, he gets his bottle (thank God he can finally hold it on his own), and I read him a book. He absolutely loves books. And I’m here for it because he has three options in life… an Olympic Swimmer, a Baseball Player, or an Engineer. I’ve basically got his entire life mapped out. I don’t know how he feels about this, but I’ve got plenty of time to brainwash him, so long as I begin now! [Insert evil laugh while tapping my fingers together in front of my chest]. But no, really, swimmer, baseball, or engineer.
Okay, I digressed. This evening, on the other hand, was quite the opposite of the norm.
Tonight consisted of a warm bath, of course, followed by kicking, screaming, and tears. I mean, we were in a full-on 6-month-old temper tantrum.
If you stick around here, you will find that I know how to handle this very much. I have been through these moments far more than one can imagine in only 2.5 years. But again, more on that later. Let’s just continue with tonight’s adventures. I managed to get my son to calm himself by eating every bit of his overly stuffed belly from the oatmeal dinner he had just an hour before. Yes, the tickles always work to redirect the impending World War 3. So crisis is averted, but not for long. Once the PJs were on, the cries erupted again because, in his tiny precious brain, he only knew how to go from the bath, clothes, food, book, and then sleep. End of story. No questions asked.
However, I screwed it all up. It’s almost as though I’m an amateur father on day two of parenting, ever. I have been down this road. In fact, I’ve been down it eight times! I know that you always follow the bedtime routine! I ought to be demoted. I fed him before his bath, disrupting the bedtime routine and mixing it all up. There was a vital step that always follows PJs and happens before storytime that was now missing — food! Sure, one could say, Kevin, just give him a damn bottle again, to which I would say, Karen/Kevin (yeah, I know I have the male version of the name Karen), mind your damn business… even though I’m literally making my business your business by writing this publicly. But this is my space, and I can cry if I want to. Ha!
Now that he can’t do another bottle, as he would be overeating just to soothe himself, I skipped passed food to storytime. Oh, and this was different from any usual storytime. This was Dad reading a book with a baby boy sitting in my lap, screaming bloody murder, crying, kicking, and throwing his arms around. But I did not give up because we would get this book done no matter what. I am the father, set the rules, and know what’s best. I think. Right? So while he is in mid-WW3, I am enthusiastically reading the book, “A Little Bit of Trouble” by Sally Grindley, which, yes, I chose purposefully as a direct conjunction of the evening that was currently taking place. As I was reading, I made sure not to give up! Don’t give in and stay the course, Kevin. You know what you’re doing. I can be the boss. And guess what! I did it! I finished the book! How do you think he handled it? He cried the entire time. But I didn’t give in. I didn’t give in.
Now, the lights go off, and I hold him as he rests his head on my shoulder, sniffing and calmly finishing his crying. I sing to him,
“Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are…”
I pick up his little yellow baby security blanket, which has a stuffed chicken head on it. I don’t know. I walk into Target practically throwing my money at them, begging them to take all I have. I turn him so that he is lying on his side in my arms; by now, he is falling deeper and deeper into a calm sleep. I can feel his racing breath calming as I continue singing and swaying from side to side. And then I look down again to see this beautiful baby asleep in my arms, so comfortable. To him, I am Superman. To me, I am a big ball of mess trying to figure it all out one day at a time. But at this moment, the world stops. It’s just him and me, the sound of his breath and my calm humming.
Again, another night, I am reminded how utterly blessed I am to be “Just A Gay Man Who Wanted To Be… No; Is… A Father.” This, my friends, makes it all worth it.
There is a lot more to my story that I will continue to share. I don’t know exactly how I will share, but I know it will all come from my heart. And hopefully, some young gay boy somewhere who’s dreaming of becoming a father and might think it will never happen will stumble across these words and know that life’s possibilities are endless!
Do you want to know the best part of the night leading up to this moment, sitting on this full-size bed with the sound of my son calmly breathing just feet away from me? The best part is the same part of every night, when, after I turn the TV off in the living room and come to lay down for bed, I stop beside his crib as he’s sleeping peacefully, lean in, and give him a tiny kiss and tell him, “Daddy loves you, buddy.” Nothing in life means more to me than these peaceful moments.
I love you, buddy.
Daddy.
*Side note, this is my story. Not my sons, mine. No details about him will be shared. Just me being a father.
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Previously Published on Medium
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