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As a single guy in my late early 30s, I'm starting to grapple with some substantial life decisions — much more so now than in my late late 20s or even early to mid early 30s.

One of the most resonant themes I keep tripping into is parenting. How do I know if I have the chops and emotional capacity to raise another, smaller and marginally cuter me? Have I become so set in my single-minded ways that I have lost some of my nurturing instincts? And how can I find out the answers, other than by learning the hard way?

Before I could settle into a good furrowed-brow, pensive expression, I got a phone call. It was my good friend who, for the sake of anonymity, we'll call "not-Lisa." She and her fiancé were heading out on a short vacation and asked if I would make good on my long-forgotten offer to baby sit her 3-year-old son for the weekend.

Suddenly, it made sense. I could use this weekend as a litmus test for my daddy skills. A test drive. In less than two days, I could gain priceless insight into my core priorities and values. Plus, I know being seen with a cherub-faced toddler can send women into swooning fits of cooing and vulnerability faster than a freshly-delivered plush teddy bear holding a dozen roses sitting at the reception desk.

I gladly accepted and we made plans for the big event.

I could already visualize a video montage of the weekend's events, heightened to perfection by the Miami Sound Machine's 1986 hit, "Bad Boys." I am cool.

That Friday evening I was ready. I had kid-proofed the apartment with lab-grade precision. Electrical outlets - capped. Broken glass bottles — recycled. Collection of inappropriate mail-order DVDs featuring not-for-children content — quickly viewed, reviewed and stowed. I even had a conversation with my cats, Kahn and Gilda, encouraging mannerly behavior.

When they arrive, I'm greeted with a full-force, running-jump hug from Garret, my new best buddy. He's got enormous brown eyes, black hair and a heart-melting smile he tries to chew on and hide behind a signature smirk. In my three years of "Uncle Dane" status, I have only been able to describe him as the most precious, cheerful and kind-hearted child I've ever known.

I hope he doesn't vomit on anything.

After 10 solid minutes of hugging and kissing from not-Lisa, young Garret essentially forced his mother out the door. Apparently he had been bragging to his friends for almost a week about his "guys-only weekend" and was ready for it to start. So, with one last goodbye kiss from Mom, it began.

First up, ninja fight. We switched the channel to the Cartoon Network for a steady hum of quirky, adrenaline-laced Japanimation, pulled the cushions off of the couch for safety mats and launched into a leaping, kicking, giggling, spinning frenzy for over 45 minutes. Next, more ninja fighting. Flipping, twirling, laughing, punching, shouting, fearlessly-jumping-off-furniture-backwards-with-full-confidence-Uncle-Dane-will-catch-him ninja fighting.

I noticed Garret likes ninja fighting. He also enjoys cats. Unfortunately, I don't think the cats were expecting their serene lounge space to erupt into a Jackie Chan dance party. Nor did they expect to be picked up, jostled and hugged like Bob Barker after a particularly exhilarating Showcase Showdown. So they responded the only way they knew how – by curling up together in a tight huddle on the far side of the top book shelf.

Don't get me wrong, Kill Bill, Jr. and I were having a blast. In fact, I can't remember laughing so hard in months. But after three hours I was starting to get concerned that the evening might end with a trip to the emergency room, with me awkwardly trying to explain how a child could end up with his entire head and torso crammed into a glass sun tea container.

Fortunately, before any bones were cracked (but after an unexpected scissor kick to my kidney) the little man began to fade. So we got cleaned up and called it a night. Before lights out, we prayed that his mom and new dad would have a safe trip and be good.

The next morning I woke up to the sound of thunder. An unexpected storm had rolled in overnight. That meant most of our outdoor plans were out. However, Garret didn't seem upset. We got up, ate Cap'n Crunch and then took turns imitating and laughing at each other's snoring. He didn't care about missing the zoo or skipping the playground with swings down the street at the park. He just loved spending time with someone who adored him.

Later that afternoon, the rain let up, so the kiddo and I headed downtown to ride the subway. I figured his love for trains and the underlying potential for spontaneous ninja fighting would be a perfect fit.

As we began to move I couldn't help but watch him. His face pressed up again the glass, his wide eyes following the motion of the cars and trying to catch every detail, straining to hold back that mischievous smile.

Later that night, we would play in a fort, use grapefruits for cannonballs, build a skyscraper out of Diet Coke cans and watch "Bob the Builder" three times in a row. In the morning, we'd make the drive back home and he'd get to see Mom again. It would be the perfect ending to our Garret and Uncle Dane weekend. But in that moment on the train, I had all of my questions answered.

Logically, I have the temperament, reasoning and lower back strength to face the challenges of daddydom. On an intuitive level, I'm fortunate enough to have maintained a childlike sense of wonder and curiosity over the years. Good news for me and my potential future young'uns, bad news for the women I've dated who don't like bumper cars and food fights.

But there's something more. I love that kid. And more than simply having the capacity, knack or desire to be a parent – for the first time, I saw it as something sorely missing from my life. And it hit me hard.

I had always admired not-Lisa for the way she cherished Garret. It was obvious that she not only loved him more than life, but that he was her life.

I watched her prepare for his birth years ago. A lot of folks would be crushed under the uncertainty of raising a child alone. But she wasn't. She always saw him as a blessing. And with that kind of love and support, how could he turn out to be anything but?

Three days later the cats finally relaxed and were able to walk across the room without flinching. I also got a call from not-Lisa and the G-man. He asked when we were going to have our next big adventure. Then he thanked me for everything. And I thanked him right back.

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