Be A Dad

in

Your kid is hurt. Not badly or suddenly but hurt. It's her leg. She started running cross-country on a whim and probably ramped up too fast. Whatever the case, her left leg isn't right, the calf is tight even when she's just walking around school. She's in constant low-grade and occasional high-grade pain. Or, as she would say high-key pain. These things happen.

Your wife makes an appointment with an orthopedist. Your job is more flexible than hers, so you get to drive your girl to the appointment.

On the way, you say to her you're glad she's not a little kid, that it's good she's in high school. She shrugs. You explain: When you were tiny it was worse. You couldn't help yourself. You couldn't tell us what was wrong. This, you tell her, is still bad, but better. You know you're not explaining it right.

Okay, she says. She's nice that way. Knows when to throw the old man a bone.

You're her dad, so most of what you do is drive where she needs to go, try to be quiet and let her talk with the doctors, listen more than you talk, and head her off when she begins to spiral into anger or depression. You know about such spirals. Bet your ass you do. Trying to head her off helps head you off. Sometimes.

The orthopedist looks her over. Kick this leg up. Now that one. Stand up and walk across the exam room. Lie down and put your leg up. How's this feel? This? He figures out where things are at. He suggests an MRI.

She is nervous about that. He says, no sweat, but she says, isn't that the thing that makes you feel like the world is coming down. You smile. You know what she means. Claustrophobic, you say. The orthopedist says she won't go all the way in. Just her leg. He asks, is your leg claustrophobic? She smiles but only a little, like it's a dad joke. He smiles back. No sweat, he tells her.

And there's a job opening.

The job description: nod and make sure she believes him. Say, it's no problem. When she says it still high-key makes her nervous, nod again and say that you understand. Don't try to fix things. Just be there. Be a man. Be her dad.

You step up. You do the job. When she raises her eyebrows at you, that's when you know you've done what you were hired to do, what you were born to do, all you've ever wanted to do. And you both smile.

Childish Contradictions

in

EDIT: I posted this late at night using a bluetooth keyboard attached to my phone. It did not go well. There was no alcohol involved, but five hours of driving, no sleep, a cold, and a bad keyboard took their toll. I've noticed and hopefully corrected the typos that were littered all over this.

I'm in a hotel room near the Univerity Of Vermont while my girls and wife explore the hotel in search of a bubbler for water. I woke this morning at 4:40 and wrote Morning Pages as always, had some breakfast, went to the job (last day before break!), stopped for gas, bread for sandwiches, and a book from the library on the way home, made sandwiches, helped pack the car, and drove for just shy of five hours from Syracuse. I'm tired now. Ready for sleep.

Tomorrow we tour St. Michael's College, an institution that has been heavily courting our girl. We will have to see what she thinks of the place and what our financial situation thinks about it.

There is also the question of distance. I'm not sure how she feels about being five hours from home. I know how my wife feels. I'm curious what it would be like for me. I've been thinking about distance and closeness throughout most of the drive.

Seems to me it's not that far away even as it is a long drive. It might be the sort of thing that would be good for her and therefore good for us. I like the idea of her going out into the world even as I hope that she will come right back.

I know this much about raising children (and probably not much more): I can't predict what tomorrow will be like even as I have some ideas. This is a good balance like being far away from and close to understanding. Raising kids is an act of faith and of discipline. It requires vigilance and turning a blind eye. It is holding tight and letting them slip out of sight.

Does parenting contradict itself? Very well then, it contradicts itself. it is large. It contains multitudes.

One other thing about taking our kid to tour colleges: watching our daughters grow up is heavenly wonderful and absolutely terrible. I suppose that's exactly how things are supposed to balance.