I didn’t know love could do this.
Until Jettie.
The depth of it is... uncharted.
I don’t love her for who she will become—I love her because she is.
Not her accomplishments. Not her preferences. Not her pronouns, career, partner, clothes, or performance.
Just her.
She could wear a dinosaur costume to her wedding, speak in rhymes, grow up to study snails or stars—it doesn’t matter.
Dada loves her.
And I realize: not everyone gets that kind of love.
Some grow up with fathers who couldn’t love past their own egos.
Or fathers who left, emotionally or physically.
Some never had one at all.
And so, today, I offer this:
If you don’t have a dad—or didn’t have one worth remembering—
Know that some of us would have loved you without conditions.
Some of us do.
I may be a weird, neuro-spicy, Diogenes-quoting Zen Absurdist with a toy closet full of spiritual contradictions—
but I’m also a father.
And my arms—physical or virtual—are open to kids of any age who need one.
Not to discipline. Not to “fix.” Not to mold.
But to say:
You were always worth loving.
Even if no one ever showed you how that felt.
To the other dads reading this:
Your job is not to shape your child in your image.
Your job is to witness them. To protect their becoming.
You are not the author of their story.
You are the shelter around its beginning.
And if you’re failing at that—step up.
Let this be your wake-up call.
Unconditional love is not a luxury. It’s the floor.
If you can’t offer that, start by admitting it.
Then do better.
Today is a good day for that.
Because every child deserves to feel what I feel for my daughter:
That her existence is enough.
That her safety, her joy, her weirdness, her truth—are sacred.
That she is loved.
Not because she fits.
But because she is.