DADDY-O

I lie in bed with Marcos while Fabiola hurries through the house with her multitude of duties. If I keep Marcos quiet, I will have fulfilled my morning responsibilities. Marcos curls up inside my arms and sleeps. I slept with César and Octavio. A friend told me that he slept with his two boys until they turned double-digits. He argued that those many hours in bed together gave them a tighter bond. Octavio could never sleep unless I massaged his belly. He would crawl into bed with me, pull up his shirt and like a pampered dog beg for attention. Adrian had no male figure in his life until my arrival. His father has limited their contact to biennial appearances. Adrian was three when I entered his life. As uncomfortable as he may have been initially, he grew to depend on my nightly presence because I would read to him and he would fall asleep at my side. Can a person love children that aren't his as much as those of his own blood? I used to ridicule Estanislao who fell in love several times with women who had children, but I should have known that I would eat my words. Since I met Fabiola and the children at the same time, they have been a part of the package. Conquering them was a part of conquering her. As much as you are punished for your sins by the impersonal powers, you are also rewarded for your good acts. The great accountant in the sky collected my sons as payment for my transgressions, but he compensated me with Adriana and Adrian. And eventually Marcos. Can you love those for whom you buy jeans as much as those who carry your genes? "You may not be their father, but you're their daddy," said Estanislao. I'm sure it's a threadbare statement, but I had never heard it before and I found the words accurate. Ten-year-old Adrian is my most constant companion. The advice his step-brothers rejected, he accepts without question. "Learn the guitar," I urge him and he picks up the harmonica also. "Forget about football and basketball. Learn tennis and golf." And though he loves soccer and I accompany him to his practices and games, I am the hero in his life and he showers me with hugs and kisses. Fourteen-year-old Adriana is a more difficult undertaking because she remembers her parents together. But their father has forgotten them at Christmas and on their birthdays. I have been with them 24/7/365 since that first night with Fabiola. I have been the one with the money, the gifts and the congratulations. They listen to me and I have had the satisfaction of bringing them happiness. "Wake up! Wake up!" Fabiola is shaking me. "Be careful or you'll roll on top of Marcos and smother him." "If you would fuck me more, I wouldn't need to be on top of Marcos." "Lower your voice! The children will hear you. Why does everything have to have a sexual connotation with you?" "Where are they?" "They're eating breakfast." "Make sure you tell them to give Daddy-O a kiss before they go to school." As it became evident that we were becoming a family, I didn't like them calling me "Tommy." I found "Tommy" somewhere between impersonal and disrespectful, curiously enough the same reaction I experience when adults call me "Tamaulipas." I wanted a more affectionate moniker, but I didn't aspire to "Father" or "Dad" or "Daddy." I was technically none of those. I wanted my own identity. Not that I minded hearing those terms of endearment in reference to me. I overheard Adriana on the phone when she said, "I have to hang up; it's late and my mother and father want me in bed." For Fabiola it had been Adrian who had convinced her that the die had been cast with me. We were spending a summer in Montreal after marrying the previous March. Because the four of us were living in a small apartment, Fabiola and I weren't having our accustomed sex two and three times a day. We were picking at each other, summer cabin fever, until we had a spat during which Fabiola declared she and the children were returning to Brownsville by bus. The final outburst followed her refusal to fuck me in the morning because she feared Adrian or Adriana would surprise us compromised. I told her that if she was set on departing, I would drive her home because her parents would never forgive me if she returned alone. I retreated to the bathroom in order to cool off with a hot shower. I hadn't been in the bathroom five minutes when Fabiola entered, put her arms around me and said, "Adrian woke up and the first thing he said, 'Where's Daddy-O?' And thus I became Daddy-O, Adrian stumbling upon the name because it rhymed with Oreo. And as an admirer of the Beat Generation, I couldn't have thought of a better appellation. Fabiola collects Marcos and a short while later they are filing out the door to their different destinations. "Love you, Daddy-O." "Don't I get a kiss and a hug?" "See you after school, Daddy-O." "Bye honey...that's not much of a kiss." "I'm in a hurry." "Can I count on something more substantial tonight?" "We'll see."