Proud Father V0 13 0 Easter Westy 〈POPULAR〉

For the uninitiated: fatherhood doesn’t ship as a finished product. You don’t wake up on delivery day with a gold master. You get an alpha—crying, sleepless, terrifying. Then beta: the walking, the talking, the tantrums in the cereal aisle. Each holiday, each season, each tiny catastrophe and triumph increments the version number.

By 8:15, we were outside. Theo in his wellies. Me in last night’s hoodie. We walked to the little park at the end of the street, the one with the wonky roundabout and the bench dedicated to someone’s gran. Theo had a small basket with three eggs left (the rest already eaten or lost in the couch cushions). proud father v0 13 0 easter westy

Easter Sunday, West Yorkshire – 6:47 AM For the uninitiated: fatherhood doesn’t ship as a

He nodded, satisfied, and ran off to find the next egg. Here’s the thing about West Yorkshire on Easter morning. It’s not picturesque. It’s not a chocolate box. The hills are moody. The sky is a pewter lid. But there’s a particular light—a stubborn, hopeful light—that breaks through around 8 AM. It hits the damp pavement and makes everything glisten. Then beta: the walking, the talking, the tantrums

Not pride in his egg-hunting skills (though he was a natural). Not pride in his cuteness (though, god, the wellies). Pride in him . In the person he is becoming without my permission. In the questions he asks. In the way he shared his last chocolate button with a crying toddler at the swings—without being asked.