This morning started like any other school drop-off, the kind where the sun is barely awake and Elijah is half-asleep in the back seat, clutching the same blue backpack he has had since second grade.
I turned into the school driveway and immediately noticed something unusual, a long line of cars wrapped around the parking lot like it was a holiday.
“Elijah… why are there so many cars today?” I asked, leaning back to catch his eyes in the rearview mirror.
He shrugged at first, but then his face softened into that shy grin he does when he remembers something important.
“Oh… it’s Donuts with Dad,” he said quietly.
For a moment, the world felt too still. Donuts with Dad.
A simple event for most families, but one that always lands differently for us.
I glanced at the other cars, men in ball caps, men in button-downs, some holding tiny hands, some carrying coffee, some laughing with their kids. And then I looked at Elijah, my sweet boy who has learned to be both gentle and brave in the spaces where someone else should have stood.
I didn’t think twice.
“Well,” I said, turning the car around, “we’re going back home.”
He blinked in surprise. “Wait, why?”
“Because,” I smiled, “I’m not about to let you miss out. Not today.”
The truth is, I know these moments are complicated for him. He pretends they’re not, but I see the way he watches other kids with their dads. I see the quiet questions, the small shadows that cross his face.
But I also know this: I can still show up.
Maybe I don’t fit the traditional picture. Maybe I won’t blend in with the handful of fathers in the cafeteria. But my son deserves a seat at that table, and I will do whatever it takes to put a smile on that face.
We rushed home, me grabbing the closest jacket, him laughing because we were already five minutes late, but somehow both of us felt lighter.
As we walked into the school event, Elijah squeezed my hand just a little tighter than usual. And I knew, right then, that this wasn’t about matching anyone else’s family. It was about showing him he is never alone.
“Mom… you know you’re not a dad, right?” he whispered, teasing me with a grin.
“I know,” I whispered back, “and so do your brothers. But I love you, and that counts for something.”
He nodded in that quiet, thoughtful way he has, the one that always makes me feel like he sees more than he says.
And when he took a donut and flashed me that proud, unstoppable smile, I realized something:
Maybe I wasn’t the “dad” the school expected.
But I was the parent my son needed, today and every day.
So here it goes, another small moment, another reminder that love doesn’t always look like the picture people paint. Sometimes it looks like a mom stepping boldly into a room full of dads, just to make sure her son doesn’t miss out on sweetness.
#ilovehim
Credit: Yevette Vasquez
