A few weeks ago, a single mom I knew was trying to get her daughter to wear a coat, lest she be cold. The daughter balked. One could see them both digging in their heels. I told the mom – not at all thinking of Frozen – “let it go.” An hour later, the mom thanked me, realizing it wasn’t a fight worth engaging in.
Before I was a dad, I wouldn’t have interjected my opinion. Not only would I have thought my observations have been perceived as uninformed, but that would also have been a correct take. It is annoyingly true, at least for me, that you just don’t know what it’s like to be a parent until you’re a parent.
This was actually an issue even before The Daughter was born. I guess The Wife wanted some verbal assurances from me that I was ready to be a father. Heck, I STILL don’t know THAT, but I knew I was willing to try my best. It appears that I continue to fake it reasonably well.
I like that there are things The Daughter and I tend to do alone together, such as bicycle riding, spelling, and math homework. I’m the one to wake her up, though I wish she’d go to bed earlier and do it herself.
Speaking of bicycling, sometimes my offspring can be stubborn. She balked at doing soccer this season, I suspect because her parents thought that she needed to go to the weekly practice as well as the game, that she could use the practice, would more likely get more playing time, and get better. Yet, on the bicycle, we had this particular circuit, which involved a short, but steep, incline. She came back to it every day until she could master that little hill.
When I say to her, “I love you,” she replies, “Of course you do.” At least she’s not yet at the totally-embarrassed-to-be-around-me stage.
Like many kids, she’s much more polite outside the home. Her teachers adore her, especially the current one. She gets very good grades, 4s in everything the last marking period except for music, where she got 3s. Her participation in the play at church this year leads to her participating in the Mother’s Day service.
Being a dad has made me more optimistic, by necessity. Despite abundant information to the contrary, I HAVE to believe the world will be better for her, and, to that end, try to find ways to facilitate that.
I write this every year, but every year it’s true: I wish MY dad had had a chance to meet her, and she, him.