A single father reflects on emotional immaturity, loneliness, and how raising his baby daughter may finally help him grow up—
I am an incurable infantilist!
A blog without filters or restraints, remember?
The truth is, I have never been ashamed of it. On the contrary—I’ve always enjoyed the fact that emotionally I seem to be stuck somewhere in the 1980s, around the age of twelve. Anyone who has read my previous posts already knows what I’m talking about.
Today I’m essentially a 52-year-old man stuck emotionally at twelve, someone who enjoys watching cartoons, playing PlayStation, hunting for sweets, and generally doing the kinds of silly things that are not typical for someone my age.
Like many children, I’m easily hurt by things that most adults would consider trivial—I tend to make mountains out of molehills. I also have a very low tolerance for delayed gratification.
More than once, colleagues have looked at me in confusion when everyone goes out for lunch and I happily pull out a chocolate sandwich I made at home that morning.
Like most children I know, I also tend to daydream. In extreme cases, I can even get lost inside those daydreams—and honestly, I have no desire to let go of them.
Daydreaming, by the way, is one of my favorite parts of my daily routine, and I intentionally allow myself time to enjoy it.
I tend to focus on the advantages of my strange infantilism. One of them is my ability to connect with children. Kids seem to recognize something familiar in me that makes it easy for them to relate to me.
This was especially true when my nieces were younger. There may never have been a cooler or more “awesome” uncle in history than I was. I had the privilege and joy of spending time with them and tagging along wherever they wanted to go.
My ability to make children feel comfortable around me also helped during the time when I led educational programs for kids about animal welfare. The children who participated in my programs connected with me almost immediately, which helped me motivate them to take part in meaningful projects in that important field—and they achieved wonderful results.
Some people say that brutal, sometimes annoying honesty is also a trait associated with children. If that’s the case, I may be the most childlike person there is. Just as children will say things directly to your face that you might prefer to hear behind your back, I can sometimes upset people when my criticism isn’t exactly what they want to hear.
Yes, I am an infantilist—and as I said, I have no problem with that. At least for now.
On the Same Wavelength as Sara
At this stage of my life, the infantilism in me actually helps me connect deeply with my beloved daughter Sara, who is four and a half months old.
In fact, we’re on the same wavelength.
We both enjoy our games together immensely—sometimes in ways that surprise complete strangers who see us playing together. My relatives, on the other hand, already know me well enough to take it completely in stride.
I assume that in the coming years Sara will benefit quite a bit from her father’s infantilism—and I’ll gladly continue providing it whenever she wants.
Maybe that’s why I enjoy playing with her so much right now.
I’m practicing for the day when the two of us will have to grow up.
But what will happen years from now, when Sara reaches the age of her bat mitzvah?
At that point, she may begin to notice that her father is emotionally lagging behind her, still enjoying childish games that no longer interest her.
Will she still feel the same connection to me?
And if not—will she be embarrassed by me?
Most likely, yes.
Honestly… I can’t blame her. It isn’t her fault that her father never fully matured emotionally and remained a grown-up child.
The Crossroads of Both Our Lives
On the other hand, maybe that’s exactly where the turning point lies.
The age of twelve is a particularly significant age for me. Around that time, for reasons I’ve hinted at in previous posts, my emotional development seemed to stop.
Since then, I’ve been walking through the world as a man in his fifties with the soul of a twelve-year-old boy.
And suddenly a strange thought occurs to me: what if Sara’s bat mitzvah will be the moment when these two paths finally intersect?
Maybe that will be the moment when my life continues exactly from the point where it once stopped—only this time not alone, but together with her.
She will reach the age of twelve—and I might finally manage to pass it.
Take a moment and try to imagine that remarkable possibility.
I will finally grow up—at the same time that Sara grows up.
I’ve already said in previous posts that Sara is nothing less than a miniature female version of me. When I was her age, I apparently looked exactly the same. And with each passing day, she seems more and more similar to me in her personality traits.
So we won’t just be father and daughter — we’ll be true friends, looking alike, feeling alike, sharing the same traits of character.
Wow. I can’t remember the last time I felt this excited about the future.
Something to Look Forward To
After decades of emotional wandering somewhere between childhood and adulthood, I now feel a renewed sense of hope.
Maybe I still have a chance to become a complete person—someone who is fully connected with himself, the way a 52-year-old man is supposed to feel.
And all of this will happen thanks to Sara, the little baby who has no idea about the enormous mission resting on her tiny shoulders.
But I have no doubt that she will benefit from the change that will take place in her father.
With God’s help, the bond between us will grow stronger and more genuine—something both of us will be proud of and able to enjoy.
For the first time in a long time, I truly feel like there’s something to look forward to.
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Read Next
If you’d like to read more about Sara and our life together, here are two more posts you might enjoy:
Sara and Me 