I sat across from him at one of our favorite restaurants and found myself watching my husband, the father of my children. He was eating something manly of course, meat and potatoes in large portions, and I watched as he manhandled the meal with his bare hands. He might have even grunted between bites of his entree, no doubt imagining that it was the product of his own kill. Such a man.
It was in this moment that I caught a glimpse of his right index finger, and as I saw the brilliant pastels I fell even deeper in love with my man.
“Is that a Doc McStuffin’s bandaid?” I asked, and as he continued to shovel large amounts of red meat into his fully bearded face he replied, “yes, yes it is.”
As my spouse devoured his lunch, feeding himself with a pink and lavender decorated, dominant hand I knew that he was indeed a real man. There’s so many descriptions of what constitutes a “real man,” but in that moment I knew what it really took to be a man.
I knew that a real man has no problem wearing a pink bandaid over his cut. After all, he bought them himself because that’s what his little princess pointed to in the first aid aisle, and that’s the only ones that now stand in the medicine cabinet next to his razor and shaving cream.
A real man can sit down easily in the floor and color each and every single Disney princess that his daughter asks him to. He’ll take his time and stay in the lines showing his little lady the best colors to use for Sleeping Beauty’s ball gown.
A real man will wear bows in his hair while having his nails painted sparkly pink, and when it’s all done and his daughter holds up a mirror expectantly he will joyfully proclaim, “oh, look how pretty I am!”
A real man can play dolls, dress-up, princess tea party, and eat an imaginary cake from his purple, plastic plate all while saying in his best effeminate voice, “this is the most delicious pastry I’ve ever had!”
A real man isn’t measured by how much he can bench press, but rather by how many bedtime stories he can tell. While a little girl will always need the strength and protection daddy can offer, more than anything she needs his time. She needs to look into his eyes and see pure love and utter devotion, even if this comes in the form of playing dolly daycare.
A real man isn’t measured by the size of his bicep, but rather by the security his child feels. When a man can make his family feel safe with merely his presence, then he is a real man indeed.
A real man can give discipline when needed, and teach his children the life lessons they require. He can mold them by instilling solid morals, and give them structure and security through rules and standards of behavior. His ability to take the time to train up his young charges makes him a real man indeed.
A real man isn’t measured by how many beers he can funnel in five minutes flat, but by how many Bible stories he can tell from memory before bedtime descends.
A real man isn’t measured by how big he is per say, but rather if his lap is large enough to hold his frightened child. It’s not the callouses on his hand that make the man, but how gently he can wield them to wipe his child’s tears away.
In that moment, as we sat as a family enjoying a meal, our four year old daughter sat cozied up next to her hero, her dad. She grabbed for his hand, and she wrapped her tiny fingers around his.
“I like your bandaid Daddy. Do I need to kiss your booboo?”
Our eyes met across the table, and he smiled knowingly at me then. He turned to our daughter and replied, “I’ll let you doctor it when we get home.”
It takes a real man to be a dad, and I looked on as our daughter beamed, her spirits lifted by her very first example of a real man. Her daddy.
Joey Wilder says
I don’t know why you’d want anything OTHER THAN a Doc McStuffin’s bandaid 🙂
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
They really do go with just about anything.
ruthiespage says
Love this one!
Amy Garren says
That was so sweet, and really enjoyed reading it! <3
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you!