My wife? Meant to be a mother. She'd been like an older sister for the neighbors' children, a gang of unruly kids a few years younger than her, then she'd been the best aunt in the world for her sister's little girl. Everywhere she went, children flocked around her and, soon enough, she was surrounded by laughing kids, lost in their games and glowing with delight.
Me? An irresponsible, bohemian powder keg, impossibly impatient when I became angry, used to wandering carelessly through life, ready to starve for my passions at any given moment. I'd been an only child and I'd never learned how to share my toys with any semblance of grace, never mind take care of other people's, and that's not even taking into account the gaze nature gave me: with a single twitch of my eyebrows, I could freeze any little rascal's joyful inclination right in its tracks.
Could we add up our natural dispositions, divide them by two and get an average? Would the average be enough? Now, looking back, I know that there was only one question worth asking myself: "Are you capable of love?"
That's all you need in order to change those parts of you that aren't up to par, and to learn everything a father should know.
"Are you capable of love?"
"With all my heart."
You see, reader, that's why this book is first of all a love story.