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There I stood, an overly concerned father, nervously watching my newly licensed sixteen year old daughter headed for the mall. What was I thinking when I gave my approval for such a potentially catastrophic endeavor? I remember my exact thoughts; 'My God she's alone, in a car, driving by herself, no one in the passenger seat barking out reminders of when to brake, signal, or merge, how on earth will she ever find her way home?' Fortunately I'm the calm parent. Standing back at a safe distance, like a wise battle-tested soldier, I grinned as my wife began her list of instructions to our young driver. She first asked her to buckle her seat belt, which I could plainly see she had already done, and then asked her to adjust her mirrors, which also had been addressed. My wife's instructions droned on. Was she giving her assistance for operating a vehicle or crash landing a '747' that had lost one engine and had no landing gear? The grin on my face evolved into a smile as I sensed my wife neared the edge of the envelope. Ooops, there it is; the dreaded eye-roll. Any father worth his salt quickly becomes immune to the eye-roll. Sure, the first couple instances are effective, but after that they simply become blasé; no more noticeable or unexpected than the blink of an eye. Judging from wife's body language, this misdemeanor in my eyes had rated as a first class felony in hers. "Did you see what your daughter did?" I knew the best option would be to remain neutral. A wise dog will walk a mile out of his way to steer clear of a 'cat fight', but over the years I've become accustomed to my warm soft bed, so I did what had to be done. "Completely uncalled for; is that what you told her? Why won't kids listen to the voice of experience and reason?" Those were the words that flowed from my mouth, but I really hoped my wife had stressed the fact only one foot is required and recommended for both the accelerator and the brake. Something my beloved has apparently not grasped firmly in her twenty-five years of driving. After we went back inside our home, I welcomed my wife's announcement that she would be upstairs reading if I needed anything. I wouldn't. Don't misunderstand, I love my mate dearly, but through the years and missteps I've realized some moods are best avoided completely. I'd settled down to college basketball game I had no particular interest in, when the ringing of the phone roused me from a slumber. The number on the caller-id indicated it was my daughter's cell. I grabbed the receiver quickly, knowing her mandates included not being on the cell phone while driving - ever! "Where are you at?" I scanned the room nervously hoping my wife's book held her attention, while waiting for my daughters reply. "I'm at the mall. Mom said I had to call when I got here and again when I leave for home, so she knows I'm on my way." Her voice dripped with disgust. This special maiden voyage of independence had lost some of its luster, diluted by the orders of the crusty ole captain. "I'll let mom know you made it alright, but make sure you call before you head home, like she asked, ok?" Our daughter arrived home safely, with a large bag of 'sale-items' escorting her through the door. She announced no fender-benders, no speeding tickets, and no problems. I did volunteer to pull her car into the garage, and yes out the goodness of my heart. The fact I walked the entire perimeter of the car twice before getting in is irrelevant. It's just a neurotic tic, which occasionally rears its ugly head. As my bedtime loomed closer my daughter approached me and gave me a big hug. "Thanks daddy." "Thanks for what?" "For the car you bought me, but mostly for trusting me." I kissed her forehead and retired for the
evening. Although my daughter has made other best friends, and
will soon enough forsake me for another man, she will continue
to have only one daddy. You can read more of Dan's poetry at http://poeticjustice-dan.blogspot.com/ |
Cheshire Cat
Nothin' Better
Songs
of
I stared in disbelief as the older model Grand
Prix pulled away. Not even the amiable smile from the driver
as she passed could ease the churning in the pit of my stomach.
I couldn't think of appropriate words to accompany her departure
and only one image circulated in my mind; my loving arms wrapped
securely around her. During the last several years these memories
required more frequent and frantic forms of resuscitation. Even
I realized their resurrected existence only exhibited my inability
to let them die peacefully. How does one gracefully deal with
the unraveling of a close knit relationship? I understood her
desire to leave and appreciated her need for space; a calling
to explore independence, to be her 'own woman'. At least that's
what I'm telling myself.
