Daughters

Yesterday I was helping the girls ride around the park.  Layla on her Barbie bike (finally got around to fixing the tires), and Paisley sporting the new princess scooter she got for Christmas.  They love love love their "bikes".  Reminded me of how much I rode them when I was a kid. 

Most of the time, as they rode around the giant circle, they were as far apart from each other as possible.  Round and round, and they each kept asking for help.  So back and forth across the circle I went, earning father points with each trek.  They were looking to me for direction, stability, and safety.  I was being a good father.  And I could feel it.  With each pedal or push, they were each getting the hang of it. We were having a good time. 

In the middle of this a sadness hit me.  Hit me hard, out of nowhere.  I thought about the day I would die.  Maybe it would come soon, maybe not for a long time.  Either way, someday they would lose the ability to directly receive advice and love from their father.  And it has become obvious to me lately how important a father is for a girl, especially when she is little.  But what caused the sorrow, however, was not my death.  It was this notion I couldn't shake: that the closer we become, the harder that this loss will be for them.  I literally felt that the better father I would be in their lifetime, the harder it will someday be for them to lose me.   

Of course as I write this, I worry that it sounds incredibly conceded.  As if my relationship to them is absolutely everything important in their lives.  Which of course it is not. But these were the feelings as they were coming.

I think two things are going on:  one, as a father, I would like to shield and protect them from any major emotional distresses (which of course is impossible to do). And two, I have an issue with the finality of death. 

I want to give them a good family life and a good relationship with their father and mother.  Maybe I underestimate the importance of these things regardless of their eventual end.  I still can't shake the feeling.   

The good news is that my instinct is stronger than this crazy head of mine, and I would not change anything about our bike ride in the park.  And I look forward to many, many more.

Wii Golf with a 3 year old

(me - a practice swing)
"You have to push A daddy."
(another practice)

"Daddy you have to push A."

"Yes, I know honey, thank you."

"Well, you're not going up to the ball, you have to push A."

(sigh) "Do you remember who taught you how to play this?"

"Yeah."

"Who?"

"Me."

"You taught yourself to play?"

"Yeah, I did it over and over and I figured it out."

(At this point I become deeply concerned that my daughter is just like me.  Ugh...)

Or wait, is it Heather that's stubborn?  Yeah, stubborn genes are maternal.  Sorry ladies, it's science.

Perspective

Late afternoon. Bright sky with a dim sliver of a moon behind some low moving clouds. Layla on her back.

"Where is the moon going daddy?"
Me looking up: "oh, um, well the clouds are moving honey, not the moon".

"No, the moon is moving daddy, I see it! And where is it going?"
"Okay, let's watch to see where the moon goes."

...


"So, where is it going daddy?"

How could you not love this little lady?