Daily Prompt: 180 Degrees

Daily Prompt: 180 Degrees.

Tell us about a time you did a 180 — changed your views on something, reversed a decision, or acted in a way you ordinarily don’t.


// I haven’t done a Daily Prompt in quite a few days – I haven’t stopped but the $10,000/7 days one really got me flowing and that’s where I’ve been recently still thought I could do today’s. Enjoy.//

He didn’t do girly. Never. He didn’t cry. He didn’t wear pink. He didn’t do soft. He was first and foremost a man. Not only that, but a manly man, complete with military haircut, big muscles and a healthy respect for sweat blood and … well not tears, not really that was a little girly for his tastes.

So when he was called in an emergency and told to rush to a hospital he didn’t panic. He walked calmly, perhaps slightly faster than normal, his boots gripping tightly to the too shiny hospital floor as he made his way to the reception desk. He didn’t acknowledge his heart pounding in his chest threatening to push his way into his throat and at the same time drop into his stomach. He ignored and denied this as he was lead into the room that held his wife. He saw her, covered in sweat, traces of blood, her face distorted by tear tracks. He saw and his knees were traitorously weak he held her hand because she demanded it and while he was not girly he was a gentleman.

It was weeks later when he was left in care of that small pink bundle for the first time. He was not frightened. He was braver than that. But in a dark place he refused to shed light on he was terrified, he was panicked and he was looking for his wife to hurry back and rescue him from the cooing drooling heart wrenching bundle that was their daughter. Hardly a person and yet the entirety of everything that mattered. His heart was neither in his throat nor in his stomach, it had been ripped out and stolen by this magnificent terrifying creature that mattered more than air, more than gold, more than sunlight and water. Inside that precious bundle held his heart and he couldn’t bear to look away, or recognize how fragile and irreplaceable it was. It drooled on him.

It was only a blink of an eye and years had passed. That strange bundle of blankets had grown. It could laugh, and cry and speak – semi coherently although always too fast and so high pitched he worried for the windows. It could also demand and pout and had eyes big enough for him to sink into and see the precious truth that was his heart and his wife’s heart and his daughter’s heart trapped in that oh so tiny chest that heaved with a barely suppressed bawl, a lip that quivered and a little sniffle that threatened to undo him until he could do naught but relent.

He could wear pink for her. He could don the tiny tiara and use the pink blanket as his cape. He could do these things because he might be a manly man and tough but he was also more than that. He was a father. Seeing that almost cry turn into a joyous smile was enough to keep him strong. When others teased him in his pictures he didn’t need to throw up a defense, he simply smiled back. He was still manly, he was tough, but no one could ever tell him that girls weren’t just as tough. He had been there when the second bundle had been born. Blood, sweat, and tears had been part of it, but also pain, fear, determination, euphoria, and triumph. He was a manly man, but he looked to his wife when he needed courage, because that was more than he could have borne, and she had done it twice and was well on the way to her third.

He was a manly man, but he did do girly. He let tiny fingers braid his short hair and longer beard, he wore pink when it was required, he played prince charming, and was a human jungle gym, he had a healthy respect for blood, sweat, and tears. And he did cry, and he revealed in that which was soft and perfect in his family, because first and foremost he was a father.