One doesn't usually get into single parenthood by choice. But when it does come your way, the challenges and rewards of being a single parent are many. I recall the very first day I took on such a responsibility, almost two decades ago. My daughter was 3 years old.

I was still flush with the miracle that my daughter would be living with me. But it wasn't until I woke up that morning that I realized the enormity of the challenge I had undertaken. Hitherto, I had been the typical father, spending a choice few minutes every morning and evening with her, between rushing in and rushing out on some errand or mission, supposedly urgent and important.

Now, suddenly, as I heard the noises from the room next door confirming that she was up and would be charging into my room any moment, I felt the realization gradually creeping over me that I had taken on a task far bigger than I had even imagined in the intense desire to have her live with me and in the euphoria of being given the opportunity. Promoted overnight from a part-time father to a full-time father and mother, I did not have a clue as to the routine I was to follow, now that my three-year old was awake and about to enter my bedroom.

Which she did within moments. We played for a while. When she retreated into the bathroom to wash and bathe, I hovered outside, asking pointed questions: "Have you brushed your teeth?" "Washed behind the ears?" "The ankles?" Though her answers were reassuring for me, I quickly sensed that my questions merely revealed my discomfort at my own inexperience.

She emerged from the bathroom with a twinkle in her eye. "Okay, Daddy", she said, "it's time to do my hair." Do her hair? It was beautifully thick and heavy, falling down to the waist, woven into two neat braids. But I had never done braids in my life! I didn't have the faintest clue ...

She stood there before me, her face turned up, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Several seconds passed as I remained frozen. Speechless. I had always prided myself as being a problem solver. But here was one that stumped me completely.
Defeated in the very first hour.

I must've looked terribly helpless. She grabbed my hand. "You don't know how to do it?" she asked, but didn't even wait for my acknowledgement. She led me into the bathroom. Pulled out a stool. Climbed onto it until she was level with the mirror. And announced, with a smile, "I can show you how to do it."

"First, brush my hair until it is neat", she instructed me. I did. That was easy.
"Now, part my hair from the middle." I somehow managed.

"Divide up one side into three equal parts", and she showed me how to. I was beginning to enjoy this game, inept though I was at it. I noted how good she was in guiding me through the steps, and waiting patiently at each stage as I fumbled and repeated until I got it right.

Then, to my utter delight, she did the first few twists and said: "Now, you do the rest." Her fingers were too small to manage the tresses beyond the first two manoeuvres. But I messed it up. She suggested I comb it over, divide it up again, and start the twists all over again. We did it a few times until I got it reasonably right. "Good", she said and patted me gently on the hand. "Now do the other side the same way."

The whole thing took half an hour. I could see that the final result was not spectacular. But she preened before the mirror briefly. Swung around to face me. Gave me a long hug and a kiss. "That is very, very good, Dad." I teetered between laughter and tears.

"Now, it's time for breakfast. Let's go, Daddy." We started down the steps, I lingering in the back. What did she have for breakfast, I asked myself. For the life of me, I couldn't remember. She saw me hesitate. Grabbed my hand and tugged me along. "You want me to show you how to make breakfast, Dad?"

Suddenly, I knew it was going to be all right. My life had, overnight, become so much richer. More challenges, for sure. But a lot more fun and satisfaction.