I sat in a room with my son. And had to pretend this was normal.
That being watched, timed, and evaluated was just… protocol.
The counselor sat there, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning every move I made.
Waiting to see something.
Maybe some proof and a reason why this whole thing was necessary.
But instead… They saw a dad.
And saw my little boy light up the moment I walked in.
The way he ran to me, laughing and happy to see me.
He climbed into my lap like he never forgot who I was.
We played, colored, and talked about his favorite shows, new friends, and the tooth he just lost.
And I caught the counselor watching, not just observing, but genuinely confused.
Because nothing was off, there was no tension. No fear. Just love.
And I wanted to ask:
“Do I look like a threat?”
“Does this feel unsafe?”
But I didn’t.
Because the minute I defend myself, it sounds like I’ve got something to prove.
But the truth is…
I shouldn’t have to prove I love my child. I never fought the supervised visits.
I just wanted to see him, whatever it took.
And it stings.
It stings to walk in as a father and be treated like a liability.
To be reduced to scheduled hours in a neutral space, like love needs a chaperone.
And the worst part? She knows better.
She has seen me with him.
Knows he clings to me when I leave.
So why go this far?
Why paint a picture that doesn’t match the reality?
I have always been there.
And will continue to be.
Even if I have to do it under fluorescent lights, in a room full of toys, with someone taking notes in the corner.
Because no matter how many hoops I have to jump through, I’ll keep jumping.
But tell me… When will being a good father be enough?