Dads and Daughters
I knew this day was coming. There was no way I could avoid it, not forever. Oh, I could go along pretending it was a long way off, whistle a naive tune, but I knew better. I have sensed D-Day approaching for over a year. But only now that the day is actually here - now that IT is no longer some hypothetical someday, but an honest-to-goodness reality - do I realize how helpless I feel. For you see, the plain truth is . . .
. . . my daughter likes a boy.
How did this happen? And when? Wasn't she half my height only yesterday? Wasn't I reading her The Lorax just a moment ago? Gone is that little girl who annually came with me to my 7th grade classroom on her days off from school and tried to do the same work as my students. She has been replaced by someone who is now the same age as those I teach. I never thought the day would actually come . . .
The day itself had plenty of excitement already. My daughter was cast as the eldest child, Liesl (“I am 16 going on 17 . . .” How’s that for irony), in her middle school’s production of The Sound of Music and her second show was later that night. A few hours before the show my daughter’s mother called me, speaking in secretive tones. In a hushed whisper, she explained that our daughter had called her after school in a panicked, frantic state of mind. A boy, my daughter confided, liked her. He was going to be at that night’s performance. And after the play, in front of God and me, this boy was going to give her a rose. “She is petrified,” her mother said.
The fact of the matter was, my daughter was petrified of me – what I might say, what I might think, even what I might do.
When I heard this, I was stunned and a little confused. How could my daughter think that I might publicly embarrass her in such a way (isn’t teens acknowledging that they have parents at all embarrassment enough?)? And then I remembered how big every new moment was in the lives of the young teenagers I teach. “She’s their age,” I reminded myself.
After assuring her mother that I wouldn’t say a word until after the play, I began contemplating the threshold my daughter was about to step across. Granted, she was about to take a very small step – a boy she liked, who liked her in return, was giving her a flower – but a step nonetheless.
Was this the beginning of the boy-crazy years? Was my daughter’s self-worth going to be tethered to whether or not some kid liked her? Were her friends and family now going to take a back seat to a boy?
Thankfully, I knew the answers to my irrational questions immediately. My daughter is too strong and too well-loved by the many people in her life to be defined by anyone else but herself. Oh sure, she will fall madly in love someday – we all do, and have – but her character, who she is, will remain.
As a father, I must admit I face this new world of my daughter’s with a good deal of mixed feelings. After all, I was a boy once too. And I remember. But something exists now that I couldn’t possibly have been aware of then . . . trust. I trust my daughter – her judgment, her smarts and her belief in her own self-worth. No one, certainly not some mere boy, will ever take that from her. Knowing this unwavering fact eases my mind, as it should also ease everyone else’s who knows and loves her. This, I grudgingly accept, makes it okay that . . .
. . . my daughter likes a boy.
. . . my daughter likes a boy.
How did this happen? And when? Wasn't she half my height only yesterday? Wasn't I reading her The Lorax just a moment ago? Gone is that little girl who annually came with me to my 7th grade classroom on her days off from school and tried to do the same work as my students. She has been replaced by someone who is now the same age as those I teach. I never thought the day would actually come . . .
The day itself had plenty of excitement already. My daughter was cast as the eldest child, Liesl (“I am 16 going on 17 . . .” How’s that for irony), in her middle school’s production of The Sound of Music and her second show was later that night. A few hours before the show my daughter’s mother called me, speaking in secretive tones. In a hushed whisper, she explained that our daughter had called her after school in a panicked, frantic state of mind. A boy, my daughter confided, liked her. He was going to be at that night’s performance. And after the play, in front of God and me, this boy was going to give her a rose. “She is petrified,” her mother said.
The fact of the matter was, my daughter was petrified of me – what I might say, what I might think, even what I might do.
When I heard this, I was stunned and a little confused. How could my daughter think that I might publicly embarrass her in such a way (isn’t teens acknowledging that they have parents at all embarrassment enough?)? And then I remembered how big every new moment was in the lives of the young teenagers I teach. “She’s their age,” I reminded myself.
After assuring her mother that I wouldn’t say a word until after the play, I began contemplating the threshold my daughter was about to step across. Granted, she was about to take a very small step – a boy she liked, who liked her in return, was giving her a flower – but a step nonetheless.
Was this the beginning of the boy-crazy years? Was my daughter’s self-worth going to be tethered to whether or not some kid liked her? Were her friends and family now going to take a back seat to a boy?
Thankfully, I knew the answers to my irrational questions immediately. My daughter is too strong and too well-loved by the many people in her life to be defined by anyone else but herself. Oh sure, she will fall madly in love someday – we all do, and have – but her character, who she is, will remain.
As a father, I must admit I face this new world of my daughter’s with a good deal of mixed feelings. After all, I was a boy once too. And I remember. But something exists now that I couldn’t possibly have been aware of then . . . trust. I trust my daughter – her judgment, her smarts and her belief in her own self-worth. No one, certainly not some mere boy, will ever take that from her. Knowing this unwavering fact eases my mind, as it should also ease everyone else’s who knows and loves her. This, I grudgingly accept, makes it okay that . . .
. . . my daughter likes a boy.
Great post! Love the humor and heartfeltness in your writing. I couldn't date til I was 16 so I would have benn worried about my dad's reactions to a boy in middle school too.
ReplyDeleteThanks - m overprotective father is much better than the alternative:)
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