Why is it that every time I am away from my son, I count the seconds, and as the seconds turn to minutes, and minutes to hours, I eagerly expect the moment I will be with him?
Why is it that when I come home from work, the best part of my day is when I open the door of our house and there to greet me is my kid with his priceless smile?
Why do I feel like I just won big time in the lottery whenever my son takes my hand, puts it in his forehead to be blessed, and as a bonus gives me a kiss?
Why is it that when I hear my kid sing, even though my ears don’t understand most of the words, my heart fully grasps what he means?
Why does the world seem to stand still when I watch my kid sleep?
Why is it that even though there are problems that hound me every now and then, they all seem to disappear when my son climbs up on my lap to watch TV with me?
Why am I mesmerized when I look at my son’s face—as if I travel back in time, I see exactly what I looked like in the past as a kid, yet at the same time, all I can think about is my kid’s future?
Why is it that when I scold my son, I truly understand what my dad was pointing out when he, too, scolded me and said I would understand when I become a dad myself?
Why do I wish, when my kid is sick, that it is I instead who feel his pain?
Why does watching cartoons with my kid seem to be the greatest event of the day for me—and it really is?
Why is it that the most beautiful sight for me is the sight of my wife and child hugging each other while sleeping?
Why is it that my taste in music has drastically changed from rock music to music to rock the cradle with, and surprisingly I like it?
Why is my LSS (Last Song Syndrome) always the “Alphabet Song” and, yes, again I like it?
Why do I feel I’ve made a difference in this world whenever my son learns something right from me?
Why is it that I see my kid as the most handsome child in the universe, and I’m ready to make things ugly for the person who dares to contest it?
Why is taking a nap in the afternoon with my son the best form of relaxation for me?
Why did I write a cheesy Father’s Day article when I know I will be teased by my buddies for it?
Why do I not care if my buddies say I went cheesy this Father’s Day?
Why is this article made up of silly questions?
And lastly, why do I ask such silly questions when I already know the answer?
I’m a father.