Today is my oldest daughter’s birthday. She is turning 17. It
seems like just yesterday that my wife was going into labor the morning of Black
Friday. We went to the hospital and my daughter decided she was in no rush
to enter this world. Morning turned to afternoon and afternoon turned into
night. Still we had no baby. Saturday came and went in the maternity
room and still, no baby. Finally on Sunday morning my daughter decided it
was time to enter the world and let her mother get some rest. Every child
is special in their own way and I think birthdays are our opportunity to look
back and see how we have touched their lives and they have touched ours.
From a young age she loved to color. At 4 years of age we would try to put
her to bed and she would yell and scream her disapproval. I would order
her to enter her room and lay down. She would get out a coloring book,
about a thousand crayons and lay in the doorway coloring. When I scolded
her she would scream, “I AM in my room and I AM lying down.” As angry as I
was at her defiance, I had to admit, she was right. I wasn’t around enough
as she was growing up. My job required me to work a lot of hours and
sometimes travel for extended periods. One day I went to get her from her
bed and she was gone. A quick look found her asleep in her older brother’s
bed. It seems she had a nightmare and as she apparently did frequently,
and crawled in bed with him to feel safe. I asked her why she didn’t get
me. She said that she was used to going to her brother when she was scared
and that she was going to grow up and marry him. It was then that I was
confronted boldly with the extent of my neglect. I wasn’t her hero.
Her brother was. She didn’t idolize me. She placed her brother on a
pedestal. Work did not relent and I continued to be away more than I
wanted. When I could I would try to spend as much quality time with her as
possible. The problem was that her brother was a Daddy’s Boy and
monopolized my free time. The two children never wanted to do the same
things and thus I was torn in two directions. She had little use for me by
that point and gladly left me to see her mother or work on an art project.
I tried to play her games but I never did get the hang of Barbies or her other
dolls. She grew frustrated with my attempts to play and would quickly
dismiss me. She only took an interest in me when her little sister became
a toddler and demanded my attention. Suddenly I had two girls sitting with
me watching kids’ movies. It took a while, but I established a firm
foundation with her. So as I sat across from my 17 year old daughter at
her birthday dinner, part of me was proud of the job I have done with her and
part of me felt a great deal of guilt. She was talking about universities
she wanted to check out and friends from school. It was a very “Cat’s in
the Cradle” moment. I had missed being the man in her life and soon I was
just going to be missing her. I console myself with the knowledge that
something of me must have rubbed off on her. After all, she wants to be a
book editor! She bears no resentment for me of which I know. For
that I am grateful. I just wish I had been there more. Perhaps I
would be the one she comes to with her problems now. Perhaps I would be
her hero.
seems like just yesterday that my wife was going into labor the morning of Black
Friday. We went to the hospital and my daughter decided she was in no rush
to enter this world. Morning turned to afternoon and afternoon turned into
night. Still we had no baby. Saturday came and went in the maternity
room and still, no baby. Finally on Sunday morning my daughter decided it
was time to enter the world and let her mother get some rest. Every child
is special in their own way and I think birthdays are our opportunity to look
back and see how we have touched their lives and they have touched ours.
From a young age she loved to color. At 4 years of age we would try to put
her to bed and she would yell and scream her disapproval. I would order
her to enter her room and lay down. She would get out a coloring book,
about a thousand crayons and lay in the doorway coloring. When I scolded
her she would scream, “I AM in my room and I AM lying down.” As angry as I
was at her defiance, I had to admit, she was right. I wasn’t around enough
as she was growing up. My job required me to work a lot of hours and
sometimes travel for extended periods. One day I went to get her from her
bed and she was gone. A quick look found her asleep in her older brother’s
bed. It seems she had a nightmare and as she apparently did frequently,
and crawled in bed with him to feel safe. I asked her why she didn’t get
me. She said that she was used to going to her brother when she was scared
and that she was going to grow up and marry him. It was then that I was
confronted boldly with the extent of my neglect. I wasn’t her hero.
Her brother was. She didn’t idolize me. She placed her brother on a
pedestal. Work did not relent and I continued to be away more than I
wanted. When I could I would try to spend as much quality time with her as
possible. The problem was that her brother was a Daddy’s Boy and
monopolized my free time. The two children never wanted to do the same
things and thus I was torn in two directions. She had little use for me by
that point and gladly left me to see her mother or work on an art project.
I tried to play her games but I never did get the hang of Barbies or her other
dolls. She grew frustrated with my attempts to play and would quickly
dismiss me. She only took an interest in me when her little sister became
a toddler and demanded my attention. Suddenly I had two girls sitting with
me watching kids’ movies. It took a while, but I established a firm
foundation with her. So as I sat across from my 17 year old daughter at
her birthday dinner, part of me was proud of the job I have done with her and
part of me felt a great deal of guilt. She was talking about universities
she wanted to check out and friends from school. It was a very “Cat’s in
the Cradle” moment. I had missed being the man in her life and soon I was
just going to be missing her. I console myself with the knowledge that
something of me must have rubbed off on her. After all, she wants to be a
book editor! She bears no resentment for me of which I know. For
that I am grateful. I just wish I had been there more. Perhaps I
would be the one she comes to with her problems now. Perhaps I would be
her hero.
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