Who's Your Daddy?

Who gave you your first bath because he thought Mommy was too "frighten fi hold yuh right?"

Who was the self-proclaimed expert on breastfeeding, despite not having the proper equipment himself, and proceeded to give Mommy pointers, so to speak?

Who liked to carry you around the East Village in a Snugli and had to suffer the indigity of strangers asking, "Are you the nanny?"

Who bought a Lion of Judah flag and affixed it to your stroller, all the better to push you through the East Village with a little rasta pride?

Who mixed up a bush remedy to ease your roiling 3-month-old belly, showing up the pediatrician in the process? And to whom has the pediatrician given The Proper Respect ever since that day?

Who insisted a bath would "cool yuh dung" during a tantrum, when Mommy thought it would push you over the edge, and was absolutely right because it stopped your sobbing?

Who would chew up a handful of peanuts into a buttery paste, carefully retrieve them/it from his own mouth and then pop it into yours, just like a mama bird would do for its babies?

Who would scoff at the blue rubber suction bulb recommended for clearing a baby's stuffy nose, and proceeded to just suck out the congestion by putting his his mouth upon your nose and drawing hard?

Yeah, Mommy thought that was pretty gross, but had to admit it was effective.

Who counted the days until he could bring you bakka yard and show you off to Grandma Una, the breddas and sistahs, and jess about evry-baddy he knew?

Who fretted and vexed when you ended up in hospital, so tiny and sick? Who brought Mommy a fresh plate of home-cooked dinner each night, as she sat by your bed 24/7, while he stayed at home caring for bigga sista all alone, day after day? Plenty dark days when we thought we'd lose you but who kept us all strong and positive?

Who ran on foot from Houston Street to Chambers when the WTC was ablaze on 9/11, the North Tower just two short blocks away from your elementary school, knowing that he must pluck you from the chaos before it was too late?

And who, after scooping you up and bringing you home, breathlessly reported back to Mommy, before the cell phone lines went dead, "Mi haff her, mi haff her, she ah-right, mi haff her"?

Who decided to coach your soccer team after first proclaiming that "girls nah play ball"?

Who has volunteered to be the parent chaperone repeatedly and escorted you on school field trips to museums and galleries and aquariums, Central Park and Botanical Gardens and the Statue of Liberty?

Who has been to every First Day of School, every Celebration of term, every concert, every birthday party, every soccer game?

Who gave you your first swim in a spring-fed pool, your first sail in the Caribbean sea, your first rough ride on a jet ski?

Who chopped your first jelly coconut with a machete, peeled you an orange Jamaican-style with his ratchet knife, or cooked the corn-meal porridge which I share with you?

You know who.

Happy Father's Day, to our daddy, the best father ever.

One love, one family, always -- fi life.

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