The Impact of Being Called “Dad” for the First Time

He didn’t mean to say it.

It just… slipped out.

We were getting out of the car, and he turned back and said, “Hey Dad, can you—”

Then he froze. Looked down. Mumbled, “Sorry.”

But I heard it.

And it wrecked me — in the best possible way.

It wasn’t just a word. It was a shift.

A crack in the wall between us.

A sign that something deeper was forming — not forced, not required… but real.

I didn’t correct him. I didn’t make it awkward.

I just smiled and said, “Yeah, buddy. What do you need?”

Because that’s what dads do.

That moment reminded me that this work we’re doing — all the showing up, the boundaries, the prayers, the patience — it’s not invisible.

It’s being watched. Absorbed.

And slowly, over time, returned.

Being called “Dad” wasn’t about ego.

It was about trust.

And for a kid who’s lost so much, trust is sacred ground.