Fathers and Daughters
I’ll be honest. A lot of times I’m not.
With myself. With others.
I could have been a better father.
I’m reminded about that every year when I go to the annual Father Daughter Valentines Dance.
No, I’m not some closet pedophile. I’m in the Rotary Club, who sponsors the event, and attend every year to shoot video for promotional use.
Every year, I see hordes of little girls dressed in their finest dresses with their hair piled up in fancy buns, clinging to their dads like he is a life raft.
And every year, when the deejay plays one of those slow country songs about Daddy’s baby girl growing up and moving away, I do the same thing.
I sit over in one of the dark corners of the room and think about my baby girl and how I could have been a better father.
I will usually shed a tear or two when the song gets to the part where the daughter gets married and the father dances with her one last time at her wedding or when she grows up and reminds him of her dear sweet mother who died years again in a horrible farming accident.
Yeah, those songs are sappy but they hit me every year and remind me that I could have done better.
Not that I was a bad father. I put a roof over my kid’s head, clothes on their backs, went to all their ballgames and dance recitals. But I could have done more.
I’m sure all fathers feel that way. when they look back and examine their lives, trying to size up their contributions to this world other than giving the guy who engraves headstones something to do.
So this year at the Father Daughter Dance, when the deejay lowered the lights and the first notes of one of those ‘daughter grows up and leaves home’ songs started playing through the speakers, I shuffled over to the corner and found my usual chair in the shadows.
It was time for me to cry the hot tears that would help cleanse me of my guilt of being less than a perfect for another year.
And, like always, they did come. But this year, for a different reason.
This year was different from all those others because it was the first time that my son and granddaughter were there.
I knew they were coming. My granddaughter had talked about it excitedly for weeks, telling me and my beautiful wife how she was going to wear her special Valentines dress with the hearts on it and how her Daddy was taking her on a date to dinner before the dance at a fancy restaurant, just the two of them.
I was excited to see her join all of the other little girls who would be the center of attention. And she loves to dance.
But I was also anxious to see my son and how he would act in this crowd of a few hundred other grown men.
Most of the dads who come to this thing become just spectators the moment they walk through the doors.
Men in general are very prideful and cautious about displaying any behavior that may bring their manhood into question.
Like dancing in public.
I guess it is a throwback to when we had to fight each other to mate with the best women. Any show of weakness got you whacked over the head with a club and thrown into a ravine filled with hungry saber tooth tigers.
I’m sure that’s why I hid in the dark to do my crying.
Would my big, tall manly son be one of the wallflowers and just leave his daughter to dance on her own?
If you had asked me that question when he was a teenager, I would have not even hesitated with my answer.
“Yes, he is way too selfish.”
During his preteen and teen years, there were many times when my wife and I contemplated driving him out into the woods and just leaving him there.
To say that he was a difficult child would be like saying Michael Phelps could float pretty good.
He lied. He stole. He cheated. He drove his mother to the edge of becoming the subject of a made-for-TV movie.
‘The Mom Who Drowned Her Son In The Toilet’
It would have been a big hit on the Lifetime Channel. I would have insisted on being played by Brad Pitt.
His main issue, other than just being dang stubborn, was selfishness. He wanted what he wanted when he wanted it.
We prayed that he would grow out of it before becoming an inmate somewhere.
And he did.
He met a beautiful young woman who tamed his wild ways. And one day she announced she was going to have a baby.
We held our breath. Fatherhood requires a lot of self-sacrifice. Was he ready? Would that poor child scream itself to death while my son played XBox in the next room?
When their daughter arrived, she had a health issue that required an extended stay in the hospital. And I think that’s when my son truly became a father.
And a wonderful father he has become.
During the Father Daughter Dance, my son asked my granddaughter if she wanted to dance with me.
She smiled at me and then shook her head.
“No, Daddy, I want to dance with you. Only you.”
I sat over in the corner and watched them sway in circles to the music of one of her favorite Disney movies.
She had her hands clasped tightly around his neck and was smiling the biggest smile I had ever seen.
Maybe next year, when they turn down the lights and start playing those sad songs, I’ll sit over in the corner and instead of shedding a few tears, I’ll smile.
I’ll think about this moment.
My hardheaded son, who I thought would grow up to be a selfish jerk, swaying on the dance floor with my granddaughter.
My son loving his daughter. Unashamedly and proudly in public. Like a real man.
And I’ll think, maybe I wasn’t such bad father after all.
