An evening of single fatherhood, exhaustion, and emotional truth —
I decided that in my very first blog post, I would share an especially unusual experience (and one that may be somewhat controversial) that I had with my two-month-old daughter, Sara, a few days ago.
Two Days of Worry, Fever, and Exhaustion
First, I should mention that the day in question was incredibly exhausting. In fact, it came after two particularly challenging days for both Sara and me. Two days earlier, Sara had received a vaccine against a dangerous bacterial infection, which caused a sharp drop in her appetite and a mild fever.
Beyond the fact that she required much more attention than usual from me (which was entirely expected), her temporary condition pushed my level of concern to new heights. Then again, I have always been prone to anxiety. Don’t worry, though—I do my best not to let Sara notice.
During those two days, I was completely drained, physically and emotionally, far beyond what I had imagined as a 52-year-old single father to an energetic newborn. And on that particular evening, two days after the vaccination, although Sara was already feeling better, I was still utterly exhausted, functioning on what can best be described as screensaver mode.
So, at seven o’clock that evening, in order to continue giving my amazing daughter the very best of myself, I did something I never thought I would do.
In fact, it was something that, had another parent done it, I might very well have been among the first to criticize.
The Bottle in the Refrigerator and the Battle with My Conscience
With hesitant steps and a heavy heart, I walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door. I stared at it—the bottle—while my exhausted mind churned with guilt, moral questions, and second thoughts. All the things that are supposed to trouble a parent who wants to be at his very best for the person he loves most.
I gathered my courage, ignored all those thoughts, and picked up the inexpensive bottle of white wine. I closed the refrigerator door and poured some into a mug that is usually reserved for tea.
At first, I poured cautiously.
Then, little by little, I loosened up.
I filled the mug halfway.
Okay, I promised this blog would be completely honest and unfiltered.
It was a little more than half a mug.
I took one hesitant sip.
Then another, slightly more confident one.
Instead of Children’s Songs: Cyndi Lauper
Afterward, I walked over to Sara, picked her up from the baby bouncer she had clearly grown tired of for the day, and held her at eye level.
We looked into each other’s eyes and smiled, as we had done countless times before.
And then, as the wine probably began making its way through my bloodstream, I decided to do something unusual.
Instead of playing the usual children’s favorites on YouTube, something inside me felt a strong desire to share a piece of my own world with my daughter.
I wanted to share the music that truly moves me.
I turned on my small JBL speaker and connected it to my phone.
I knew exactly what I wanted her to hear.
Something that brings out every emotion in me.
Something that reconnects me to my childhood—almost to my umbilical cord.
The beautiful ballads of Cyndi Lauper.
Why Cyndi Lauper Has Been Part of My Life for Decades
I had never felt so emotional as I did sitting on the couch with Sara in my arms, face-to-face, singing along with Cyndi to True Colors, Time After Time, Heading West, Sally’s Pigeons, Shine, The Goonies ‘R’ Good Enough, and several other songs that shaped the landscape of my childhood.
A small confession: Cyndi Lauper has always been my favorite singer.
No other artist has ever moved me the way she has.
I always felt as though she was singing directly to me, for me alone. As if she had somehow discovered the secret path through the walls I built around myself and found a way inside—at full volume.
I was ten years old when she burst onto the scene with the incredible album She’s So Unusual in 1983, and she became one of the defining influences of my childhood.
She was there during the difficult teenage years as well, especially through True Colors, a song that touched exactly the place where a lonely and isolated teenager needed to be reached.
Cyndi has accompanied me throughout my entire life—in the happy moments and the difficult ones.
Of all the pop icons of the 1980s, she is the only one who still accompanies me today.
And I will emphasize it again: no other singer connects me to my emotions the way she does.
The Moment I Revealed My True Self to Sara
That rare and special evening, as I sat there singing to my daughter in my admittedly ridiculous singing voice while Cyndi delivered those beautiful lyrics far more skillfully than I ever could, I was actually revealing my deepest self to Sara for the very first time.
My true self.
Sara looked at me with a quietness and curiosity that I had rarely seen in her, studying the shining eyes of her aging father.
Perhaps she didn’t realize that she was watching him become a child again right before her eyes.
It was the perfect connection between a father and his daughter.
It felt like the most natural thing in the world.
For the first time in years—perhaps for the first time ever—I felt whole.
Connected to the universe.
Connected to myself.
And most importantly, connected to the greatest thing that had ever happened to me after 52 years of emotional distance and isolation:
Sara.
My beloved daughter.
I sang softly and honestly, from the heart.
Every word carried enormous meaning for me.
Every lyric washed over me in waves of emotion and love, like a message being passed to the next generation.
As though I were saying:
“Sweetheart, I’m Yaniv. Your father. Standing before you with my soul completely exposed.”
And Sara looked at her father in a way she never had before during the first two months we had spent together.
Formula, Burps, and Gratitude
About an hour after our Cyndi Lauper concert, it was time for dinner.
Sara eagerly finished her usual bottle of formula. Her appetite was slowly returning as the effects of the vaccination faded.
After producing a series of impressively loud burps, I held her in my arms for a long time before putting her down to sleep.
As I watched her surrender to the sleep she so desperately needed, I silently thanked God for this perfect miracle named Sara.
And I offered one more thank-you to Cyndi Lauper—who, incidentally, God created as well, despite being a diva in her own right.
Was I Wrong to Drink That Glass of Wine?
Now that you know the full story of that evening, I have a question for you:
Do you think I was wrong to drink that glass of wine?
As you’ve probably already guessed,
I don’t regret it for a second.
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More From Sara & Me
If you’d like to read more about Sara and our life together, here are two more posts you might enjoy:
The Dictator and the Devoted Servant
A Donut Filled with Formula
Sara and Me 
The way you describe the wine, the music in the background, and the quiet of the night makes the moment feel lived-in rather than romanticized. It’s the restraint that works — you let the scene exist without explaining how we’re supposed to feel, and that’s what made it stay with me
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Thank you for reading it that closely. I’m glad the scene was allowed to stay quiet and unresolved — that was important to me while writing it
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I appreciated how grounded this felt. The details — the time of night, the music, the ordinary setting — kept it from drifting into nostalgia. It read more like an observation than a memory, which made it convincing.
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What stayed with me was the choice to keep everything understated. The scene isn’t pushed toward meaning, and that restraint gives the writing its credibility.
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I agree. The fact that it isn’t trying to land a clear point is what makes it feel honest. It trusts the reader, and that’s rare.
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I don’t usually comment on blogs, but this felt familiar in a very ordinary way. Nothing dramatic happens, and that’s exactly why it worked for me.
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