Because I Lost My Son, I look Out For Yours

I love your children. That's my default setting. It might be creepy, but it's the truth.

I need to clarify.

I've been dropping my kids off at daycare for the past five years, and I've seen so many kids over those years. When I see them crying, which happens with the new kids, I calmly ask their names while their teachers are present and talk with them like adults. I may fail, but I try to make them all feel a little better.

When those kids see a strange man talking with them like an adult, they often respond positively. It's also a way to help their teachers for a brief moment. I do not linger.

If I see a child in public, I always keep a watchful eye on them. I want to ensure they're safe and be an extra set of eyes for their moms, who often try to do ten things at once. Those kids love to wander into busy parking lots while their mothers put groceries into their cars.

I want to be clear.

I only love your kids when they're 8-years-old and younger. Every year they grow, and my hate for them grows exponentially after that. My 9-year-old daughter is already pushing my limits.

If I'm being serious for a minute: I got sober; I got diagnosed with cancer; and my infant son died of SIDS.

I refuse to stand by and watch the next generation of fatherless children, which is becoming much more prevalent, be exposed to the world without at least one set of eyes looking out for them.

The children are our future.