Man in the Mirror
Just over 16 years ago a major mental shift happened that changed my perception of reality as I was living it. I stood with my wife of only several months in front of our dresser and stared at two little test tubes, each with a little purple ring in the bottom indicating . . .I was going to be a Dad.
I was in my early twenties and a junior in college. I had certainly included fatherhood in my someday plans, it had just arrived a little sooner that I had conceptualized it. Of course, in the end, it was a complete blessing that I've never regretted in the slightest, but as I reported to work at KFC that night where I was a cook, I couldn't feel my lips or my hands or face the entire rest of the evening.
Well, I could feel them, but just as sort of a far away tingling. Eventually I reconnected with my body and commenced my impending new role by getting books out of the library with titles like Dealing with your Troubled Teen. What was to be my little girl could have fit on the head of a pin at that moment, but I wanted to be ready.
In our "guess who's coming to dinner" method of family planning, I did have 3 other oh-my-goodness moments, but nothing as intense as that first one. In that first moment I became amazingly aware of my mortality. It was like a fog blew away and I found my foot on the rung of a ladder, and I could look up and as far as I could see were the people who came before me. I was now in line with them. I wasn't running around in the grassy fields anymore, totally oblivious. I could see my place in the chain very vividly. I'd never thought about myself that way before then. Now it was impossible not to be aware of it.
I had a similar experience on Saturday night when the New Boy came to pick up my daughter. After my daughter was safely home again and tucked in, I lay down next to my wife and told her how I was remembering while Kitten was on her outing.
I was remembering how I felt when I would go over to the houses of girls I liked when I was a teen age boy and happened to meet their parents. I had always felt a bit of pity towards those men, those fathers. I didn't do it consciously, and I always showed respect and was duly polite. But deep inside I always had a feeling of how sad it was that these men had to go through each day doing the best they could with what they had left, not being in a place in life so full of vigor like I was. They were just kind of a remnant keeping the wheels turning even though they may have even forgotten what they were turning them for.
Like I said, I never brought these judgments to the forward part of my brain. They were just impulsive emotional responses based mainly out of youth and ignorance. I had this feeling, it seemed, toward every father of every daughter. . .except one. I realized as I was telling my wife all this that the only father of a girl I hadn't felt that way towards---was hers. Frank was a friend, and easy to spend time with and talk to. He had a good sense of humor and made me feel very at home. And at that moment, I began to miss him again. Cancer claimed him far to early.
But as I was brushing my teeth that night, I suddenly realized that I was in the other role. I was the father of the liked daughter, and that this young man, very polite and respectful himself, was probably having that very same reaction of pity towards me. The old guy. And as I was standing there in the bathroom light realizing these things, my scattered grays seemed to shine a little brighter than usual. At that moment, it seemed like they were the ones telling the truth, much to the shame of the darker ones
This morning as we were getting Lemur ready for school, my wife pulled a crumpled, hand scrawled note out of his book bag and showed me. Over the top of the big smiley face that took up two thirds of the page it read:
I only had a single thought at that moment: "ONE AT A TIME, PEOPLE! ONE. AT. A. TIME!"
I was in my early twenties and a junior in college. I had certainly included fatherhood in my someday plans, it had just arrived a little sooner that I had conceptualized it. Of course, in the end, it was a complete blessing that I've never regretted in the slightest, but as I reported to work at KFC that night where I was a cook, I couldn't feel my lips or my hands or face the entire rest of the evening.
Well, I could feel them, but just as sort of a far away tingling. Eventually I reconnected with my body and commenced my impending new role by getting books out of the library with titles like Dealing with your Troubled Teen. What was to be my little girl could have fit on the head of a pin at that moment, but I wanted to be ready.
In our "guess who's coming to dinner" method of family planning, I did have 3 other oh-my-goodness moments, but nothing as intense as that first one. In that first moment I became amazingly aware of my mortality. It was like a fog blew away and I found my foot on the rung of a ladder, and I could look up and as far as I could see were the people who came before me. I was now in line with them. I wasn't running around in the grassy fields anymore, totally oblivious. I could see my place in the chain very vividly. I'd never thought about myself that way before then. Now it was impossible not to be aware of it.
I had a similar experience on Saturday night when the New Boy came to pick up my daughter. After my daughter was safely home again and tucked in, I lay down next to my wife and told her how I was remembering while Kitten was on her outing.
I was remembering how I felt when I would go over to the houses of girls I liked when I was a teen age boy and happened to meet their parents. I had always felt a bit of pity towards those men, those fathers. I didn't do it consciously, and I always showed respect and was duly polite. But deep inside I always had a feeling of how sad it was that these men had to go through each day doing the best they could with what they had left, not being in a place in life so full of vigor like I was. They were just kind of a remnant keeping the wheels turning even though they may have even forgotten what they were turning them for.
Like I said, I never brought these judgments to the forward part of my brain. They were just impulsive emotional responses based mainly out of youth and ignorance. I had this feeling, it seemed, toward every father of every daughter. . .except one. I realized as I was telling my wife all this that the only father of a girl I hadn't felt that way towards---was hers. Frank was a friend, and easy to spend time with and talk to. He had a good sense of humor and made me feel very at home. And at that moment, I began to miss him again. Cancer claimed him far to early.
But as I was brushing my teeth that night, I suddenly realized that I was in the other role. I was the father of the liked daughter, and that this young man, very polite and respectful himself, was probably having that very same reaction of pity towards me. The old guy. And as I was standing there in the bathroom light realizing these things, my scattered grays seemed to shine a little brighter than usual. At that moment, it seemed like they were the ones telling the truth, much to the shame of the darker ones
This morning as we were getting Lemur ready for school, my wife pulled a crumpled, hand scrawled note out of his book bag and showed me. Over the top of the big smiley face that took up two thirds of the page it read:
Lemur (but she used his real name),
This is from the girl who loves you.
Signed,
(and she signed her name)
This is from the girl who loves you.
Signed,
(and she signed her name)
I only had a single thought at that moment: "ONE AT A TIME, PEOPLE! ONE. AT. A. TIME!"
posted by Will at 8:18 PM
4 Comments:
Oh my word, that is starting pretty early Good Luck
Happy Thanksgiving!
God bless
Wow! Thank you for sharing your incredible writing with the world.
:)
Happy Thanksgiving, Will, to you and your family.
. . . so so beautiful . . . and i've felt that facing of age too . . . scary in some ways, yeah, but also hilarious this march of time . . . we are beads on a string :)
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