The Journal

The Journal

I am sitting in my rocking chair on the porch and at peace for the moment. The grass is new and green, the flowers are waking up and stretching from their winter slumber. The sun is out and warming the world. Squirrels and birds animate my yard. It is a new yard in front of my new home.

Now and then, I feel the need to take stock and see where I am. I am newly married, establishing my own household, and in a job I like and look forward to attacking. I have my beautiful newborn daughter napping in the crook of my arm as I write. Life is so cool right now.

You know, through school and internships and adolescence, I always thought in the present. I was on my way, I thought. And yet, every new station brought a revelation. Everything up until that point had been nothing but preparation for the real journey. To get to the beginning of the road. I believe I am there now. I have achieved at least the minimum of what I expected out of myself. Wife, career, home and family. With that accomplished, I can start down this great road before me, providing for my daughter’s own trek and my wife’s and my eventual comfort in retirement.

I look at this little miracle in my arms and realize that this is what it is all for. To produce this life and care for it, provide security for it and set it out into the world. God, this little being is so delicate, so frail, and the task is so immense. It is intimidating sometimes but also completely invigorating. I have never had so much purpose. And love. I have never had so much unconditional, unselfish love for anyone or anything in my life. Not even for my wife whom I cherish. But this, this little creation, part me, part my wife and completely her own being.

There is no choice anymore as to whether to travel the road or not. I have struck out on the road already and there is no turning back. It’s like when I first learned how to drive. I thought for a while that it was too complicated, too many things to bear in mind, I was never going to make it and might even kill myself or someone else in the process. But still I went ahead prodding myself like the Wizard of Oz addressing the Scarecrow, Tin Man and the Lion, with assurances that hundreds, thousands of other with no more brains, heart or courage then myself had learned to drive a stick shift, and so would I. And so I did.

But this is so much bigger. What if I screw up? I would be eventually pushing a little bird out of the nest who had not learned to fly. I will not let that happen. I will give her every opportunity I had and more to know the world and be prepared for it. I will build a fortress around her and let no potential harm near her. She will grow up happy and never in want or need, this one.

When she looks up at me from the sandbox with those big blue eyes and smiles out of simple recognition of her Da-Da, I melt right away. I become one of those new fathers I used to laugh at, prattling in blubberese “Who’s dat I see? My wittle pwincess? Is she the most beautiful pwincess in all the world?” Yep, that’s me all right. I used to joke that the child is objectively monitoring that behavior like a concerned psychiatrist, “This one’s a gonner.”

But I look into her big blue eyes and see nothing but unconditional love for me, just as I have for her. Incredible that we can share this with each other simply with the innate understanding that I am “Dad” and she is “Daughter.”

She depends on me instinctively. How can she know I won’t let her down? I’ll tell you it puts your work in a whole new light. Ambition for ambition’s sake went right out the window. Now there is “the family” to feed and clothe. Now there is the “college fund” to consider.

That’s nuts, by the way. To have to start putting money away during the second trimester so that with compounding interest you can reasonably expect to afford to give her decent schooling – that’s nuts.

But you know what? I’ll do it. My wife would say I’ll complain all the way, but I’ll do it. And I know that because already my work has a new inspiration behind it. And it’s not all financial. I want my little one to be proud of her papa one day.

She’s definitely got a lot of me in her. Look at how quickly she’s learning. I mean already up on her toes while other kids her age at the day care are just beginning to discover they have toes. And all they want to do is suck on ‘em.

Nah, this one has my genes all over. She’ll be a killer attorney with the gift of gab; you can tell the way she’s so quickly picking up words and even phrases. Even if she can’t say ‘em, she understands ‘em. I mean, you see her mind working and figuring things out. Maybe she’ll be a great doctor, analyzing the symptoms, identifying the associations and producing the responses.
With a smile I swear she already knows how and when to use, she could sell anything if business becomes her bag.

Big things ahead for her, and I want to set the example. Just today I got the biggest account in the office. I tell you I am soaring, bursting with pride and feeling invincible. Of course, it’s gonna mean a lot of work and overtime, but that’s what it takes, right?

All these goals I’ve set for myself with regards to my baby and her future depend on me achieving other goals at work. To remain a success in business, you’ve got to continue to shoot for new and higher peaks to climb. Don’t, and you slide backwards, a course very difficult to correct.

So without her even knowing it she is helping me succeed, providing the necessary inspiration while I’m at work, and in many smaller ways. Through her eyes I am gaining a new perspective on life and values. The world is so much more simple. The way it ought to be. Whose idea was it to make life so complicated. Not a father, I can guarantee you.

I see life now in the crayon colors and heavy black outlines of the drawing books my daughter has left here at my side before her mother put her to bed. She wants desperately for me to see the wonderful universe in which she lives, drawn inside the boundaries of the hedgerow and fencing. What I have created for her, she has re-created for me on paper with a Disney imagination. And I see that I’m doing okay for now as a father, to raise such an artist.

Those drawings make me try all the harder to keep the house and yard in shape, improving it where I can. I want her world to stay as perfect as she has depicted it. I gave her a pet dog to love and protect her when I’m away. I erected a swing set on which she imagines herself to be a trapeze artist or a bird in flight. I built a little house of her own out back to match the big one, and inside she constructs her own family world with her dolls. She pedals around the driveway and sidewalk on her tricycle like a speed demon.

I bring those visions with me to work and apply it liberally. I do my best and have faith that my cause is just. I keep her world colorful and bright. I keep the money coming in in increasing amounts for now there are school clothes and supplies to acquire, and bigger and better toys she demands because Tommy or Suzy has one. I keep the picture of my wife, my daughter and I on my desk to help me through busy days that seem to get busier with each accomplished task.

I read her day in the letter I find on the floor when I get home. She colored some more, she played dolly, she had friends over who left their toys behind or so I assume. I never gave her half the things I find cluttering the rec room downstairs. I guess toys are still a communal thing at this stage; whatever is in sight is available for general use. Unless these are the result of some trading…; is it possible that she’s got possessiveness to her now? Why not, I guess, with all the material things my wife and I seem to place importance in. She’s sure to pick it up.

I learn from her world of toys. What happened to the simplistic G.I. Joes and Barbie Dolls that at least left something of the game to the imagination? Now they are all microprocessed and programmed to act out what the toy manufacturers believe is a child’s wishes. And my child is
taught to be delighted. Such is the power of suggestion and marketing: tell the world it wants what you have and soon you have the world knocking on your door. Has she already learned this and how to apply it to get what she wants, horse-trading the toys she’s done with for that which she covets in her friends’ toy box?

How can the world I gave to her be so alien to me? I don’t know were her tastes in clothes and food and games come from. I can’t keep up with her advance, much less lead her. Did I miss a year or two? I just got her to try a two-wheeler with the training wheels on and I’m already taking them off. They’ll join the trike and the stroller in the corner of the basement collecting cobwebs. I remember buying all these things; I just don’t remember enjoying seeing her wear them out.

I see glimpses of her life through others who are with her during my longer and longer work days, and frequent business trips. The teachers, on Parent-Teacher Night, tell me she is very good in English and science, though struggling a little in math. I can forgiver her that because I hate math. I never have understood what was wrong with the Old Math that required developing a New Math. Did 2+2 somehow stop equaling 4, until we did some recalibrating of the equation? And we want our kids to understand that? I make sure now to set aside the bills and papers I am working on to help her with homework.

That is, I would if those events happened at the same time. By the time I get home, she’s done and almost ready for bed. I have to remember on the weekends to sit with her and have her show me what she’s doing in school. Of course, teaching Dad about school is the last thing on her mind on the weekend. She wants to play with her friends.

My daughter is not outside kicking a ball or playing hide-and-seek, but in the family room fighting with her two best girlfriends about who gets to play the video game next and which game is more realistic. The three of them, I might add, are dressed entirely too grown up with tube tops and cut off jeans. Who taught them that?

My wife tells me she is popular with the other kids in the neighborhood though she can be a bit greedy with the spotlight. I think she may get that from my dinner table recounting of workday battles for recognition in the job. I find myself increasingly “playing the game” as a matter of survival, not out of enjoyment as I did in my single days. There are really two enemies out there. Your competition in business and your competition in the office. Promotions and raises are doled out meagerly. I give up more time at home in order to keep my place in line in the office. To stay in the spotlight.

So when I finally drag myself across the threshold of my castle, I want my queen and princess to know how hard I am fighting for them, for us. I want some confirmation that I am succeeding in keeping them happy and, yes, I want them to pour appreciative and congratulatory praises on me for becoming Senior Vice President. Some immediate reward for my sacrifice and effort. I know, beginning to sound a bit selfish. But I think it’s only human and excusable to want approval from those dearest to you.

Most times, I just have to take it for granted. My princess has been spirited away this evening by some would-be courtesan and my queen has engagements with the other queens of the realm. So I have this endeavor to busy me. And, of course, castle up-keep.

My rest days are so full of chores and household projects I scarce find time anymore for simply sitting and enjoying the day and my family. But I can find pride in a house that is solid and comfortable. This is my accepted role when at home. The Fixer-of-All-Things-Broke. The
Acquirer-of-All-Things-Needed. And my family is there to guide me in that role.

I do procrastinate terribly sometimes in these duties. However, I cannot imagine how I got to be so late with the desk set for my daughter. I spent an entire weekend when the girls were away visiting Gramma and Granddad, building it into her bedroom wall, complete with surrounding shelves and nooks. That was a year ago it seems and she’s packed up now and heading for dormitory life. It’d be tough to compete with a university library on that score.

How did that happen? Well, there’s still time to be Dad yet. I’ll make sure next time she’s back to set some time aside for just the two of us. Maybe take her somewhere for the weekend, like the
amusement park, or camping. My wife thinks those ideas would have been fine a few years ago. But I can’t reach back a few years ago to enjoy them with my daughter. That time is already gone. Already gone.

I have earned the right to adjust my schedule to include less career and more time at home with the family, but the “family” is already gone. Just me and my wife in the home I built to enjoy with more than two. Now the chores don’t even take up my free time and my daughter isn’t here for me to lavish it on her. I missed my opportunity somehow.

And it is with that thought in mind, as I sit on my front porch, with the grass new and green again, and the flowers and trees awakening from their winter slumber, with the squirrels and birds animating my front yard, and with this infant girl napping in the crook of my arm as I write, that I promise not to miss it again. There is still time to be Grandpa yet. And in doing that maybe I can show my daughter what kind of love I had for her all along had I had the time to give it to her.