The Real Man of the House : Child #3

Hunter is my oldest son, he is 9 years old and the most loving boy. He is the type that thinks for all the other kids when going to the doctors he asks for lolly pops for all his brothers and sisters. He is gentle and sweet with a lot of rage.

Raising my first son has been a huge challenge because this gentle soul was nothing of what I imagined to be my “Jr”, my big boy to guard the family while dad was gone. Sensitive and sweet. He was artistic and deep. He showed sides of him that i haven’t come to know until years of existing. I was raised to be hard and tough and fight when needed, the culture was to never show weakness and tears are a sign of that.

I was taught in days that men don’t show much emotions.

One of the first times I cried as an adult was after a close friends death in the military. I held it in all day on duty and once I opened the door to my apartment I just started balling. I honestly was in shock my body could do this and without effort. I was heart broken I lost my friend who I was just hanging out with in the chow hall line days before. I was mad at myself for being weak and allowing his unfortunate death affect me. The next time I cried was again while still in the military I lost two more friends and that was the last of what I have come to know as the hard side of me… Since then my emotions I can only describe as broken. I would lose my shit over a Home Makeover for a family that was in need… I couldn’t control it. I somehow have opened the door to my soul and can feel people’s pain… it’s made me feel less of a man for a long time. I lost my confidence I once knew as a badass… Until my son was born in 2007.

When he was born I was so excited! Remember I had two girls before this. Was almost willing to bet that I was fearful of the joke men tell each other… You’re going to have all girls” something that’s very common in the Special Operations world. But here he is, my son. The boy to carry one the Vargas Legacy.

I was flooded with thoughts of his future. He was going to be big like his father. He was going to be a fighter, a tough manly boy.

As the years went by I realized my boy wasn’t like his bonehead father at all. He was compassionate, affectionate and sweet.

Coming from a man who was overtly masculine I was afraid I raised him wrong. What the heck did I do wrong? I know I was gone a lot. I know I showed him love but was it too much? Why wasn’t my son the man I thought he should be?

This took some hard learning. My son showed me the true definition of what it is to be a man.
He is more masculine then I am. He has the strength to break the mold of the stereotype of what Men should be. He is a lover and a fighter. He hugs and loves with no hesitation. He is selfless and artistic. He is everything I have come to be myself after years of keeping all that locked deep inside.

The real Man of the house….