Building Something Whole

Nicole Morgan essays

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November means Christmas is on its way.
What will this holiday bring?
I have done the it will be as it was before dinner.
And the make it our own dinner.
What comes next for my little family of three?

Apparently first, 'Movember.'
Everywhere I look, I see the opposite sex growing facial hair.

It makes me chuckle to see young boys with fluff holding out for the big shave. I do not have boys, and as sexist as it may sound I was actually grateful not to have boys. Raising boys to be fathers, breadwinners, and the head of a family seemed rather a daunting task even though I do believe that girls can do anything boys can do. In fact my youngest came in and said a boy told her she was not able to play because she was a girl, and my oldest advised telling him to get his sexist head out of his *ss. I taught them well. I do not defer to the Prince Charming dream, altho a handsome man on a white charger would make for a welcome change of pace. By the way, my girls will share that I take issue with those 16-year-old princesses waiting to be whisked away by their 'once upon a dream,' yet I admit, I was proud of our own live-in knight in shining armor. His daughters were once the apple of his eye and I was just a little smug as I watched families around me with failing role models.

Then came the day that complacency bit me firmly in the rear and the once upon a time fairytale life my children once knew became a part of my presumptuous past. And I confess, I was again glad not to have boys, because what lessons would they learn of such self serving egotism? It makes one wonder a little of the sins of the fathers, the way history has of repeating itself—certainly true in the life of the father of my children who followed his own father's footsteps. Then I look to my own father, married to my mother for 50 years, a man of great love, fairness, and integrity whose own childhood was not one of storybook happy ever afters. This great man, the patriarch of our family, grandfather of five beautiful little girls, and not a grandson amongst them. FYI, my mother may hold onto that pipedream.

The father from whom I inherited my argumentative streak and the knack of total recall. I share his smile, the dimple in my chin and his gift of quick sarcastic repartee which some in the family consider more of a curse. We remain infinitely black and white when it comes to right and wrong, a trait etched in the soul of my oldest child which does not bode well when it comes to a relationship with her own father. Her pain runs deep and her resolve to not forgive takes up a large part of her hurting heart. Her happy memories of her father, dying a slow and painful death with each passing day. The youngest simply wishing for someone new to take his place.

Two fatherless children to whom I cannot relate.
No understanding of this void they share and the wreckage from which they are trying to climb. I do not share this world of theirs without a father to count on since mine has my back at all times. What use am I in assuaging their fears? How is it possible for me to know the depth of their torment? Their expectations of truth and loyalty in relationships appears dashed.

But my father raised a good man, I'm truly blessed with a great brother, a caring and concerned uncle. Together they'll help raise my girls, just like they would have raised my boys to be honorable, steadfast and true, had I had them. Boys that is. There is much truth that it takes a village, my father and brother quell the fears of my children on where we will be and what we shall do. The organisations for whom I am blessed to serve are filled with strong role models, men giving of themselves tirelessly for others. We follow sites, missions, and charities in awe of the good that is done by others. My girls watch and learn. They see the good, they see the strength of those with no families, with no homes, where illnesses are widespread and where lives are in danger each and everyday.

They know we are building something whole.
I'm doing the best that I can and that in this home we have different role models.

They know they are blessed.

And they are encouraging me to date, which means I too, may have to shave in Movember.


About the Author

Nicole Morgan

Nicole, author of , is a Social Good Fellow for the United Nations Foundation, a Champion leader for shot@life and a Social Influencer for Johnson & Johnson, doing good makes her heart smile. She is a transplanted Brit cross South African, technically a lily white African American with an accent. A world traveling, liberal homeschooling Mama of two blog fodder providing cherubs by day. Writer at heart. Tweeter by compulsion. Blogger by night.

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