Just call me ‘step dad’


familyNot really. It’s just a joke. I am actually their biological father.

The issue is, none of them look like me. Sometimes I get a kind, “Oh I saw this one picture of *enter one of their names here* and with the sun hitting their face and their face all scrunched up they look just like you!”

Thanks, but you’re a liar. A big…fat…liar.

It’s okay.

I admit, when my first born was a baby until the time he was about three it was a definite sore spot to know your child doesn’t resemble you.

Maybe it’s a father thing. Maybe it’s just me (probably).

Going to my in-laws house when he was young was a trip. Nothing like hearing from every one of my wife’s family and their friends, “OH MY GOD HE LOOKS JUST LIKE TOM!”

Tom is my wife’s father. Always been good to me, but I just didn’t want to keep hearing how much my son didn’t look like me. It started out as an annoyance and ended up in me just leaving the room whenever it came up.

It wasn’t their fault and I wasn’t mad at any of them for thinking it, it was the truth.

Don’t worry, I am over it.

I don’t know why it bothered me so much. It just…did.

Was it wrong of me to feel that way? I don’t know, probably yes. It was just a selfish feeling of wanting my kid (now kids) to look like me.

Maybe I just remember growing up and hearing how much I looked like my father and how I felt pride in that. I did look like him. So does my brother. A lot of people to this day think my brother and I are twins (we’re not, I’m fifteen months older thank you very much).

I’ve been stopped on the street by someone that hadn’t seen my father since they were just out of high school and he asked me, “Do you know someone named Kelly King?”

“Yeah, he’s my father.”

“No shit, you look just like him!”

Really I’m just being dramatic. The little monsters are only 7 and (almost) 3. There’s so much more growing and changing for them to go through.

Maybe they will all end up looking like me, but I’ll just settle for one!

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I should write more


I keep putting off writing.

I keep giving reason’s why, excuses really. I had a teacher in high school that when presented with a poor excuse from a student he would say, “You have a hundred excuses, but not one good reason.”

Therein lies my truth. I want to play video games, or watch a tv show, or the kids or the wife or….

One hundred good excuses, not one good reason.

So here I am writing a blog post about why I have been whining about not being able to write a blog post.

Or something like that.

I have wanted to write about things in my life that have passed, like my dog Prince having cancer and dying, or the infertility that is now my twins, or my love of Fudge Rounds (never mind, I did this one, kinda), or how my wife just bought a new lamp for the living room! No really, it’s great.

The reason is writing about what I would like to write about it mentally draining. I think so intensely while I am typing about what I want to say that by the time I am finished I legitimately feel fatigued.

But writing is cathartic. It is for me. So to the four or five people that will read this, I will be putting forth an effort to fight the fatigue and write more. I have missed it.