Yesterday was Father's Day 2016 (or it was, today, when I'm writing this). Good food, time with two of the three daughters, digital contact with the third, relaxation, Game of Thrones as a nightcap...all-in-all, a great day.
23-and-a-half-ish years ago, when I first became a Daddy, I had no idea what that meant. Not that I didn't have one, but having one and being one are two very different things (same is true of peanuts, cars, and headaches).
When the eldest was born, I didn't have that love-at-first-sight moment that some people talk of, I didn't think she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen (au contraire, new-newborns are not much to look at, all misshapen and gooey as they are), and I certainly didn't feel like my entire world had been turned upside-down (that took at least another 6 or 7 hours).
But as I got to know this little tiny person, and held her, and sang to her, and (one day) coaxed out a smile, and (one day) got her to laugh...the hook was set and I fell truly, madly and deeply in love. I used to leave on business trips from time to time and fear that I'd come home and she wouldn't know who I was. I used to get jealous when other people stole her time from me. I used to stare into her eyes and try to figure out who she'd be. And, yes, I used to watch her sleep and listen to her tiny little breaths, and feel better about whatever else was going on in my day that day. For real. That stuff really happens.
Then we had a second. And it was another girl. And being a strategist and over-thinker, I decided that once the second one was born, I would shower the older one with attention to compensate for the loss of her mother's focus. The younger one wouldn't notice for at least a few weeks and during that time I'd be keeping the older one strong. But that plan assumed I was free to partition my heart that way, which I wasn't. The new little girl had me in her spell the minute I first looked in her eyes. And her bigger sister was suddenly a new person as well. And they were two, but they were also one. And my life was a completely different thing, all about getting as much of both of them as I could.
And we were a family. A whole thing. With internal rules and processes and procedures and routines that only we really knew. And that's what it was like to be a Daddy. To implicitly belong to others, heart and soul, in a love-trance that covered everything else all the time. The rest of the world was the rest of the world. And at the end of every day I got to come home to my very favourite people in the universe. And for them, my return was like the most important thing ever. Every day.
Other (older) parents always told me to enjoy it while I can - "it's gone in a flash", or "once they hit adolescence, they turn on you". And their childhood did pass in a flash, but I think I felt every moment of it and still can. And they never turned on me. They just got bigger and better and smarter and more delicious. And we all became soul-mates...with a deep understanding of each other's weaknesses and strengths and tender spots that you have to stay away from. If there's one club that it's okay to be an exclusive member of and keep others out of, it's this club. Nobody else who isn't your daughter (or son I suppose) or father (or mother I suppose) gets in.
So there we were, hearts full and lives full, when leaving-the-nest time started to loom. A choice to make: Let them go and move on to the next phase of our lives where we sit at home and wait for the time they can afford to give us, OR start it all over again with one more? Go back to the start with the bad nights and the poop and the everything else, or ... dare I say it ... let ourselves get old?
You know what we chose. And I thought I knew what that would be like. How the new one wouldn't quite replace the old ones, but that she'd be some compensation for what we'd partially lost.
Now the older ones were still teenagers at the time we implemented this decision, so when we told them that we would be inviting someone new into the club, there could have been anger and resentment and jealousy and disgust (you know, about mommy and daddy "doing it"). But there wasn't. My first two gave us probably the single most memorable moment of my life with their reaction: The purest and most spontaneous tears of joy in the history of all humankind.
And it's been nothing but pure and spontaneous joy ever since. Anyone who has followed this blog or my Facebook posts knows how I feel about my little one. You may also know how the rest of the "club" feels about her. But if ever there's been a decision that was so clearly perfect and instantly validated as such, it was that decision to do it all over again.
How could it not be? I'm a Daddy. That's what I do best. I'll always be a Daddy. The women for whom I've been a Daddy for 23 and 21 years respectively will never ever ever stop being the babies, then toddlers, then kids, then teenagers, then young adults with whom I am forever utterly in love. And the same will be true when this latest one is ready to go off to school and then who knows where. My heart will break again and then it will be okay again because it's not an end, just a change.
So that's what it's meant and means to be a Daddy. To be in a permanent state of "Father's Daze". Happy, sad, astonished, excited, worried, proud, and completely lost in love for these incredible things that I (we) made - once upon a time, every day of my life since, and (happily) ever after.
(And yes, Daddy didn't get enough sleep once again. And yes, he shouldn't write blog posts when he's in this state because they're always mushy and not funny at all. Live with it.)
Monday, June 20, 2016
Wednesday, June 8, 2016
With apologies...
It's been too long since I've written anything. I'm sorry about that. In fact, I'm sorry about a lot of things. And given that today, June 8th, is the secular Day of Atonement, I would like to take this opportunity to say sorry for many of those things (for example, I'm sorry for making up the thing about June 8th being the secular Day of Atonement when it's not actually until next week).
In no particular order...
To my mother: I am sorry that years and years ago when we were all on our way out somewhere on a wintery Friday after dinner and you warned all of us to be careful on the icy steps, I went out first and lay down at the bottom of the steps moaning and groaning as if I had just slipped all the way to the bottom and hurt myself badly. That wasn't nice. Funny, yes. But not nice. Sorry.
To my father: I am sorry that I haven't done a better job of referring my enormous fan base to your new and thought-provoking blog: Atheists, Theists and Other Fools. I am also sorry that I never took you fishing when I was young. And I'm sorry that you and I never had a chance to run a half marathon together. And I'm really sorry for laughing at you when you were showing my daughters how to use crutches years ago and fell down with a tremendous thud. I'm also sorry for not being bald and fat by 50 like you always said I would be. But mostly I'm sorry for underselling your new and compelling and genuinely insightful blog: Atheists, Theists and Other Fools.
To my brother-in-law (the one who used to be my camp counsellor): I am sorry for pretending I knew nothing about how to get a blog up and running when my dad came asking for help. I am sorry for sitting quietly by as you became the IT Help Desk for my parents in my place. I'm also sorry that I'm only a little bit sorry about these things.
To my wife: I am sorry that I have never stopped telling the story about waking up one morning, opening the garage door, and seeing your car neatly parked with a big orange pylon trapped under one of the rear tires. It's small of me to keep bringing that story up and I'm sorry.
To my oldest daughter: I am sorry for pretending I could do 11-digit multiplication in my head when you were younger. I am even more sorry that you didn't realize I was faking it until you were in University math. That must have made you feel inadequate by comparison. Boy am I sorry that 8-digits is my limit. And by the way, I'm sorry that I allowed your mom to lead you to believe that plants pee, and that I let that go all the way until you were in University as well.
To my middle child: I am sorry for not being more empathetic the other night when you were truly upset that the spider you had seen in your bathroom had already slinked off into a hiding place before Mom was able to get there and remove it for you. I'm even more sorry for putting that big plastic black spider on your pillow while your back was turned and you were yelling at Mom for not getting there fast enough to catch the spider. I'm sorry for laughing when you screamed. I know that people who live in glass houses shouldn't play with plastic spiders. I'm a terrible person and I'm sorry.
To my youngest child: I am sorry for that time I said no to you - a momentary lapse in judgement that won't happen again. Daddy loves you.
To my sisters: I am sorry I didn't turn out to be gay like you always thought I would. I am sorry for misleading you by being neat, well-dressed (always in the latest polyester pants), kind and gentle.
To my one-and-only sister-in-law: I am sorry that during the years when you were in University and used to spend lots of time in our house, I used to complain to you about when you'd empty our Brita water jug without re-filling it. I'm sorry for thinking that would be easy for you when it was clearly a lot to expect. I'm sorry for that one time I was in your house years later, poured the contents of your water jug into the sink, and left it empty on the counter. I'm also sorry that around the same time, when your kids were little, I used to write obscenities on your fridge using the cute little letter magnets. I'm sorry if I haven't always been the big brother you wanted me to be. If I've sometimes left the Brita water jug of your life empty on the counter instead of re-filling it with my love and compassion, I am sorry.
To most of the people I've played cards with: I am sorry for winning so often when we've played games of skill. And I'm sorry for explaining to you when I lose games of luck that they are, indeed, just games of luck. I got that from my father and I'm sorry for that.
To all the drivers out there who piss me off: I am sorry for calling you assholes, pricks, dickheads, and the like when I don't even know you. I am sorry for doing so behind your back and for patiently explaining to my daughters in the car with me why I felt that way about you without giving you a chance to explain your side. But to be fair, if you had just moved into the middle lane when you saw the light was changing and that I was signalling a right turn behind you so that I could make the turn instead of having to wait for the light to change before going on my merry way...asshole. Never mind. Not sorry.
To all the Facebook friends I have unfriended over the years: I am sorry you won't get a chance to read my apology. (Note: I have never unfriended anybody. So this apology really goes out to those of you who unfriended me. And that makes it ironic because it's nothing for me to apologize for and yet I feel sorry for you.)
To Bacon, my childhood dog: I am sorry I wasn't there for you at the end. I'm sorry I went off to camp without a real goodbye knowing full well that my mom meant it when she said "You'd better say goodbye to Bacon because you'll never see her again." I knew what she was capable of, and yet I chose not to believe. I still love you and dream about you.
And finally, to my faithful readers: I am sorry for wasting your time with apologies I only half mean (except for the one about Bacon). I'm a little sorry for all the high-brow stuff I've written over the years that you didn't understand. I'm sorry you missed out on the gems that you didn't bother to read. I'm sorry for avoiding politics and controversy and just wanting you to have a little corner of the world where you can spend a couple of minutes every now and then in search of a smile. But I'm not sorry for who I am. You shouldn't be either (I mean sorry about who you are, unless you're sorry about who I am, in which case you should be...I mean sorry about who you are).
Until next time...David
In no particular order...
To my mother: I am sorry that years and years ago when we were all on our way out somewhere on a wintery Friday after dinner and you warned all of us to be careful on the icy steps, I went out first and lay down at the bottom of the steps moaning and groaning as if I had just slipped all the way to the bottom and hurt myself badly. That wasn't nice. Funny, yes. But not nice. Sorry.
To my father: I am sorry that I haven't done a better job of referring my enormous fan base to your new and thought-provoking blog: Atheists, Theists and Other Fools. I am also sorry that I never took you fishing when I was young. And I'm sorry that you and I never had a chance to run a half marathon together. And I'm really sorry for laughing at you when you were showing my daughters how to use crutches years ago and fell down with a tremendous thud. I'm also sorry for not being bald and fat by 50 like you always said I would be. But mostly I'm sorry for underselling your new and compelling and genuinely insightful blog: Atheists, Theists and Other Fools.
To my brother-in-law (the one who used to be my camp counsellor): I am sorry for pretending I knew nothing about how to get a blog up and running when my dad came asking for help. I am sorry for sitting quietly by as you became the IT Help Desk for my parents in my place. I'm also sorry that I'm only a little bit sorry about these things.
To my wife: I am sorry that I have never stopped telling the story about waking up one morning, opening the garage door, and seeing your car neatly parked with a big orange pylon trapped under one of the rear tires. It's small of me to keep bringing that story up and I'm sorry.
To my oldest daughter: I am sorry for pretending I could do 11-digit multiplication in my head when you were younger. I am even more sorry that you didn't realize I was faking it until you were in University math. That must have made you feel inadequate by comparison. Boy am I sorry that 8-digits is my limit. And by the way, I'm sorry that I allowed your mom to lead you to believe that plants pee, and that I let that go all the way until you were in University as well.
To my middle child: I am sorry for not being more empathetic the other night when you were truly upset that the spider you had seen in your bathroom had already slinked off into a hiding place before Mom was able to get there and remove it for you. I'm even more sorry for putting that big plastic black spider on your pillow while your back was turned and you were yelling at Mom for not getting there fast enough to catch the spider. I'm sorry for laughing when you screamed. I know that people who live in glass houses shouldn't play with plastic spiders. I'm a terrible person and I'm sorry.
To my youngest child: I am sorry for that time I said no to you - a momentary lapse in judgement that won't happen again. Daddy loves you.
To my sisters: I am sorry I didn't turn out to be gay like you always thought I would. I am sorry for misleading you by being neat, well-dressed (always in the latest polyester pants), kind and gentle.
To my one-and-only sister-in-law: I am sorry that during the years when you were in University and used to spend lots of time in our house, I used to complain to you about when you'd empty our Brita water jug without re-filling it. I'm sorry for thinking that would be easy for you when it was clearly a lot to expect. I'm sorry for that one time I was in your house years later, poured the contents of your water jug into the sink, and left it empty on the counter. I'm also sorry that around the same time, when your kids were little, I used to write obscenities on your fridge using the cute little letter magnets. I'm sorry if I haven't always been the big brother you wanted me to be. If I've sometimes left the Brita water jug of your life empty on the counter instead of re-filling it with my love and compassion, I am sorry.
To most of the people I've played cards with: I am sorry for winning so often when we've played games of skill. And I'm sorry for explaining to you when I lose games of luck that they are, indeed, just games of luck. I got that from my father and I'm sorry for that.
To all the drivers out there who piss me off: I am sorry for calling you assholes, pricks, dickheads, and the like when I don't even know you. I am sorry for doing so behind your back and for patiently explaining to my daughters in the car with me why I felt that way about you without giving you a chance to explain your side. But to be fair, if you had just moved into the middle lane when you saw the light was changing and that I was signalling a right turn behind you so that I could make the turn instead of having to wait for the light to change before going on my merry way...asshole. Never mind. Not sorry.
To all the Facebook friends I have unfriended over the years: I am sorry you won't get a chance to read my apology. (Note: I have never unfriended anybody. So this apology really goes out to those of you who unfriended me. And that makes it ironic because it's nothing for me to apologize for and yet I feel sorry for you.)
To Bacon, my childhood dog: I am sorry I wasn't there for you at the end. I'm sorry I went off to camp without a real goodbye knowing full well that my mom meant it when she said "You'd better say goodbye to Bacon because you'll never see her again." I knew what she was capable of, and yet I chose not to believe. I still love you and dream about you.
And finally, to my faithful readers: I am sorry for wasting your time with apologies I only half mean (except for the one about Bacon). I'm a little sorry for all the high-brow stuff I've written over the years that you didn't understand. I'm sorry you missed out on the gems that you didn't bother to read. I'm sorry for avoiding politics and controversy and just wanting you to have a little corner of the world where you can spend a couple of minutes every now and then in search of a smile. But I'm not sorry for who I am. You shouldn't be either (I mean sorry about who you are, unless you're sorry about who I am, in which case you should be...I mean sorry about who you are).
Until next time...David
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)