Cry Baby

A cautionary tale for fathers and fathers to be....

No stories tonight. Just regrets and tears. Sadness and the woulda coulda shoulda's. It's not the way you should feel on the eve of your daughters wedding.Ok, one story. Or two....

The summer of 1987 was the best ever. We spent the whole time in Terri's home town of Deer Isle, Maine and I worked with her dad remolding a house . I love her folks - sweet people who love Jesus. Maine is such a beautiful place and the pace of life is so relaxed that even though I worked 40 hours a week it didn't feel like it. I remember getting up at 6:00 each day and would go to the Galley (the local grocery store) to get a cup of coffee and a cake doughnut. They made fun of me 'cause I was barefoot. I wore shoes to work though. The house we worked on was in a cove in Blue Hill. Sooo beautiful. The cove I mean. The house was a dump. Location, location location. I wish I could say more without boring you. Do a Vulcan mind meld and let you know how good it felt that summer.

All good things come to an end and so it did that summer. We were going back to West Palm Beach and I wasn't going back to school, I was going to work. There is a beautiful suspension bridge that connects Deer Isle to the mainland and as we left, having said our goodbyes we began to cross the bridge. I don't remember what was going through my mind exactly but something was changing. I wasn't just crossing a bridge to go to another city but I was crossing into a new future. Since I was 5 years old I had been a student and as weird as it sounds for me to say, there was a certain comfort in school. A predictability. Every day was going to be mostly the same. Now, I was married and have a daughter and one on the way, no job and I'm crossing this bridge into a future unknown and I was sooo scared. I couldn't turn around and go back. Being a grown up means you can't go back. The decision was final. So as we crossed, I began to cry. A lot.

I wanted to play football when I grew up. Wide receiver. I was fast but was too chicken to try out. People who are too chicken to try out end up house painters. I'm still too chicken so I paint.I cried when I turned 40. Not because I was 40 but because football players weren't 40 (mostly). As irrational as it seemed, I still believed I had what it took to play ball (all the while dismissing the fact I never HAD what it took) and could just start at any moment. But now I was 40 and it was too late. I was too old and you can't turn back time. So I cried.

I had to smile. We were at the beach enjoying the healthy dose of radiation we all love when I noticed an older man and woman walking by. He looked like he might be in his late 50's and she in her early 20's. I assumed father/daughter but you never know. Mid-life crisis' and all. Guess she could have been a hooker. They came toward us, holding hands, talking and laughing as they paced along and you could see they enjoyed each other. The great thing about sunglasses is you can stare at someone and they don't know, so I watched as they passed and I smiled inside. They had that special something. The man loved his daughter.

My daughters and son are special. I am so rich in that way. I wish I'd have taken better care of my riches. I really had a blast with them when they were young, doing all the things a little kid wants to do. But as they got older they became a little more independent, a little more self sufficient. We were a one income family which meant sometimes working long hours or even going out of town on occasion for days at a time. It didn't leave much time for me. Or Terri. Or the kids. Since the kids were more able to occupy themselves and not demand my attention I'd let them just play by themselves. Reminds me of the old story preachers tell of the man on his death bed never saying "I wish I'd have spent more time at the office". Sometimes you have to spend more time there but the job didn't end when I came home. I had to be a father. A good father. And that means time. Time I spent on other things. They weren't clamoring for my attention so more often than I'd like to admit I didn't give it. It wasn't the games and fun they missed out on but the wisdom and subtle instruction that rubs off just being with someone. A father.

My daughter is getting married and I have to pick a song to dance to. I've been listening to a few and my heart is just broken. They all speak of how the song writer cherishes so much his daughter, how she's so special. Special memories. I picture the father and daughter as they walked down the beach. They seemed so...rich. I don't have enough of those. Neglect is so subtle. Like Proverbs says "a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of hands and poverty will come upon you like a vagabond." I didn't intend to be a bad father. Truth is I'm not a bad father but I'm not a great father. And THAT was my call...to be a great father. It's never too late and so I keep trying but I missed sooo much. I've crossed the bridge, I'm past 40 and I can't turn back so I do what grown ups do, keep moving forward and trying to making right choices. Striving to still be a great dad.

I will pick the right song. The music will start and I'll take Kara's hand and lead her to the dance floor and embrace and begin to sway to the music. I'll look her in the eyes and tell her I love her. She'll probably say the same thing back. She loves me. I will be so proud and full of joy. She is so special to me. Her future is bright and I long to be a part of it. She will no longer bear my name but I hope she'll bear some of the Life I passed on. I hope some of the good made it through. Some of the Jesus. My eyes will be full of tears as we dance. Mostly they'll be tears of joy. But I'll cry some of regret too. Regret that I can't get time back....