I was walking back to use the bathroom on the flight from Amsterdam to Detroit. I had been smiling my way to double drinks and I had to use the bathroom. I walked back to the back, and a lil Afro-ed child said to me “da da.”
He said it again. Dada.
Haha, I ain't your Daddy. Although I see the resemblance between us. I see how you could get me and your daddy confused. I am just a light skinned.
His dad just laughed as I picked up Kige and asked the steward if he saw the resemblance. I explained to his older sister that I wasn't her daddy either.
Martin, their daddy, was from Kenya. He lived in Phoenix. That was hotter than Hell. Although possibly Iraq is hotter.
Someday I might adopt a child. I can see that more likely than having my old. If parenting is narcissism, then adoption even more so sometimes. Can I make a slate not my own in my image?
But that is a different discussion.
I greeted Martin in Swahili. Jambo Bwana? Assante sana. Hakuna Matata. I told elder sister to watch out for Kige, lest he find more strangers to be his daddy.