When my son Callen was born, my dad became completely fixated. Almost to an intense degree. He was the first to show up at the hospital that morning, practically running through the doors. Honestly, I don’t think he even greeted me—he just locked eyes on the baby, scooped him up like he’d been waiting his whole life for that moment, and got emotional.
“He’s perfect,” he kept saying. “You can tell he’s got our blood. It’s obvious.”
At first, it felt touching. He came by every single day during those first couple of weeks, bringing little baby hats and socks, even rocking Callen so I could rest. I figured this was his way of trying to make up for not being very present when I was growing up.
But then, something started to change.
It began with small, seemingly innocent comments. “His eyes are a bit light, don’t you think?” Or, “That nose—doesn’t really look like ours.”
I didn’t think much of it at first. Babies change quickly, after all. But he kept going.
One day, as he handed Callen back to me, he said, “He doesn’t really resemble you. Are you sure you’re the father?”
I gave a nervous laugh, trying to brush it off.
But he didn’t laugh with me. He just stared—serious, waiting for an answer.
“Dad, seriously,” I said. “Of course I’m his dad. I was there the whole time. Look—he’s got my ears.” I pointed to Callen’s tiny, perfect ears, the same shape mine had as a kid.
Still, my dad didn’t seem convinced. “I don’t know. I’ve seen a lot of babies in my life. Callen just… doesn’t have your features. His skin tone’s lighter, and his hair—”
I cut him off before he could go further. “He’s a baby. He’s going to change, Dad.”
But he wouldn’t let it go. His doubts kept creeping into every visit. Every time he held Callen, he had something to say about how my son didn’t resemble me, how something seemed off.
Then one afternoon, while I was in the kitchen with my wife, Katie, I heard my dad in the living room. He was holding Callen and talking to my uncle Mark, who had just dropped by.
“You know,” he said, his voice clear from the next room, “I’m starting to think this baby doesn’t look like Ethan at all. Maybe we should do a test, just to be sure.”
My stomach dropped. “A test? What are you talking about?” I called out, already heading into the living room.
Dad looked guilty the second I walked in. Mark was distracted, making silly faces at Callen, totally unaware of the tension.
“You’re seriously suggesting a paternity test?” I asked, trying to stay calm…