I lifted my four-month old son, my hands wrapped around his small body. I gave him a distasteful look as he drooled all over my fingers. My wife put me in charge of watching him while she cleaned and cooked. I set him down on my desk, glaring at him to make sure he didn’t do a thing.

I grabbed my pen, starting some of my paperwork. Leon squealed, bouncing in his seat. I grumbled quietly to myself.

“What kind of man bothers his father? Get your act together, boy.” I scolded.

I immediately regretted saying that when his bottom lip started to quiver. He looked towards the door and started to wail, holding out his small arms.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.