Blames the one before
And all of their frustrations
Come beating on your door**
Fathers and daughters.
It is through a father’s eyes a young girl first believes she is a princess, she is beautiful, and she is capable of anything her unbound mind can imagine.
In her return gaze, without the words to express it, she sees him as warrior-provider, hero-protector, and first love. Some would suggest it is in her father that a daughter will construct her first impressions of God.
What a powerful relationship…what opportunity…what potential danger.
To all my father held so dear
I know that I’m a hostage
To all his hopes and fears
I just wish I could have told him in the living years
Because, understandably, parents want the “best” for their children, they teach and challenge and encourage them. They provide opportunity through education, the arts, athletics, and in a best-case scenario, there’s balance.
Along the way, these babies grow and mature, each day and month and year marking an increase in independence, sometimes quite noticeable–the emphatic exclamation of a three-year-old, “I.do.it.MYSELF!”–other times imperceptible–the subtlety of a 14-year-old wearing lip gloss, but no longer just to balm chapped lips.
Filled with imperfect thought
Stilted conversations
I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got
I had several moments of “childhood interrupted,” events that would alter and determine, at least in part, who I would eventually become: the divorce of my parents, which many sources would tell you is blighting to a child, but for me, strangely, wasn’t a horrible thing (we continued to see my father every day and at least my parents’ arguing was silenced); most likely that was over-shadowed by the truly devastating death of my mother when I was nine, and my paternal grandmother’s death the following year (with whom we were very close).
These things facilitated an accelerated maturity for me and my siblings, and we learned to cope with adult fare at an early age. I’m convinced that is a skill learned early in life which has served me well, and although certainly I would rather my mother have lived, I’m thankful for this tiny piece of seen redemption from such a great loss.
When I celebrated my 39th birthday, I realized I had out-lived my mother. When each of my three children reached their third grade year in school, I was thankful, and to some degree, relieved, at its completion; not so much for my own life and health, but that they still had their mom. It is not “normal” to not have a mom when you’re a kid; to this day, I never presume any child I meet has both parents living… residual wake with no apparent ending, I suppose.
You say you just don’t see it
He says it’s perfect sense
You just can’t get agreement
In this present tense
We all talk a different language
Talking in defense
The way I viewed my father changed often throughout my life; I think he was more consistent in how he saw me. He always thought I was smart and beautiful and could accomplish just about anything I set my mind to; he was always proud of me and he found ways to express his love, sometimes verbally, more often not.
That being said, it was far from a “perfect” father-daughter relationship, and in my young adult years, I found fault with him. There was never a real friendship, he wasn’t the adviser from whom I sought counsel, he rarely shared my confidences…we never allowed each other in to our private worlds. He didn’t know how to express his; I wasn’t willing to share mine.
It was loss for both of us.
Say it loud, say it clear
You can listen as well as you hear
It’s too late when we die
To admit we don’t see eye to eye
There’s a certain beauty in all this, though, learned at great cost to him and to me. A lasting impression–adult interrupted?–that will, once again, shape who I will become, especially as a parent myself.
…thoughts to be continued….
Oh Robin, this is a nice reflection. The facts aren’t new, but I’ve enjoyed your prose and poetry combined. Your a wonderful Momma, but where did you learn??? Praise God your children will never know the times of suffering you endured. {{{BIG Hugs}}}
Meanwhile, today I have a little surprise for you. When you have some time, please stop by my blog. Blessings, e-Mom
WHOA! This is deep and profound and just wow. I had tears in my eyes. I am rather speechless.
Having had my father until I was 22 I can’t fully comprehend your experience with the loss of your mother, but much of it hits home. And just having become a father of a daughter, I’m constantly thinking of what impact I will have on her. Your writing stirs up many thoughts/emotions at far ends of the spectrum. Thanks for your transparency in this. I look forward to where you go with this in your continuation.
Good GRIEF, Robin! I have goosebumps and tears. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad one.
It’s pretty amazing just how much early experiences shape who we are today. For instance, I would never presume a child did NOT have two parents. Truly wonderful post (I think, or my goosebumps and tears are writing.)
I am very touched by your post and am trying to think of something really deep to comment with – but my mind goes blank.
I start thinking about my own father and then YOWZA – to many emotions to talk about.
Can’t wait to see where this post continues on to.
This is very moving post Robin. I wonder if each of your readers projected their own slant from their own perspective either as a child, parent, or both. As I read about your experiences growing up, I thought about mine even though my my life was vastly different. However, these experiences shaped you as parent, the result is a fine and wonderful mom to your children.
Beautifully moving. I can’t wait to read the rest of your thoughts.
Wow.
My husband lost his dad at age 39, when he was only 21 months old. So when each of our boys has turned 22 months, he has that same feeling of relief. I think it will be the same when he turns 40 in 2008 – just a sense of wow, I made it.
Thank you so much for sharing this. So much is written about mothers and daughters that we tend to forget the fathers. Thanks.
Amazing. Thank you for sharing.
E-mom, OOoo, I can’t take credit for the “poetry”–the lyrics are from the song “Living Years” by Mike and the Mechanics…I’ll be sure to note that as I continue with this train of thought.
AND BIG THANKS FOR the blogbling…you made ME smile ;).
Kaytabug…the funny thing is “this” isn’t where I really intended to go when I began…sometimes that’s how my writing goes, though…it’s a surprise even to me :).
Robert, thanks for your words; new daddydom is an exciting time; when I slow down enough to think about my impact on my kids? It can scare me to death!
Jenn, I’ll choose to believe it’s a good thing :). Ya know…the “things” in our own lives affect us far more than we realize (don’t you think?). We see things in others more clearly once we’ve experienced ourselves.
Karmyn, I kinda know where I’m headed, but until I start writing, I’m never sure. I do know this, I wanna know what you think after I’m done…
Molly, I think you’re EXACTLY write; everything we read or hear about is filtered through our own life grids; that’s why any story can take on added or diminished meaning depending on what our own experiences are (my two cents 🙂 ).
Revka, I can’t wait to write them, but doggone it, but it doesn’t look like it’s gonna be today!! 🙂
Jana, your last line is kinda how I felt when I outlived my mom. Weird to think about, huh?
Sandy, I hadn’t even thought of that…but I THINK (not sure) the second half of this will be more…(trying to attach some words to this)…”affecting” than the first half. Maybe not, but I know kinda sorta where I’m headed, and my intent is to affect. Is that as clear as mud?
Nikki, in a few words, you build me up…thanks.
I love this, Robin. Can’t wait to read more.
Thanks, Tami :).
Robin, you’re such a great writer…
Thanks for sharing such an emotional topic with us. It’s beautiful.