March 29, 2019
Dear Precious Daughter,
Yesterday your mother told me I was going to be a father. Again. Moments later you were crawling then walking. I remember how tightly you would hold onto my fingers as you attempted your first steps. You walk pretty well now. And sometimes you run – through Washington Square Park in a hurry to figure out who you are, and how life has grown as complex as it has.
You were born yesterday, you moved and wiggled in my arms, I held you close and cared for you like the priceless treasure you are. In a few days you will be moving. Again. Perhaps this time to Brooklyn, or Manhattan, or Winnipeg, or Vancouver, or LA. Who knows? Certainly not me. Nor you it seems. The confusion and uncertainty of this must consume you. It consumes me.
Yesterday you told me that you wanted to be an actress. Today you are trying to figure out how to get the ADR finished for your first feature film without toppling all of the plates that you must continue to spin. But must you? What if you allowed one or two to fall?
Yesterday you were learning the alphabet and how to write. What the difference between an uppercase letter and a lowercase one is. And why it’s important to know that difference. And why it’s always “i” before “e”, except after “c” -- except when it isn’t. Today your poetry graces the walls of New York City establishments.
A single night has passed since I held your small squirming body in my arms and now you attempt to navigate through the city. That city - "I've got this town dad." And so you do. But the town has got you too. You live and love large, it's a good way to love and to live. It’s scary though. Probably more for me than you.
I have not always loved you well, nor properly. My own selfish brokenness has brought much pain to your tender heart. I know this all too well. “If I could turn back time,” sang Cher. …But I cannot. And so, I will not dwell long upon that which could have been. That’s an exhausting and futile effort. A waste really, when there is so much ahead, so much to do.
Yesterday you called me. You were completely terrified by the potential consequences of your actions. Being 13-years-old and pulled over by the police during a two AM joy ride to Tim Horton’s without a driver’s license will do that. Today you call, somewhat overwhelmed by the uncertainty of the future. Tomorrow you will call, a bit more settled, less scared and completely elated about the next opportunity. Time is like that. A little space; a little gap in the linear movement of the calendar and things don’t seem as overwhelming as they once did.
Yesterday you laughed uproariously and swung round and round in my arms as we sang, “It’s a big, big house with lots and lots of rooms. A big, big yard, where we can play football, a big, big house. It’s my Father’s house.” We've since learned that the house is so much bigger than either of us ever thought. So many more rooms than we could have possibly imagined. But there are enough rooms, and room enough. Room for laughter and tears, for joy and sorrow. And for love. But never for hate. Hate tears away at the walls and reduces the house to rubble.
“Yesterday” as John said, “All my troubles seemed so far away.” Which of course, implies that today, trouble lurks. Today’s troubles, cares, concerns and worries are just that -today’s. And alas, tomorrow is another day!
Yesterday, you called in tears from Palm Springs International Airport. Trapped in a glass box separating you from your friend. You found your way then. And what seemed like the end of the world in the moment quickly dissolved into memory, as the sites and sounds of California filled your heart to overflowing. So often those things that loom large – shadows of despair – disappear like mist over the Hudson. (The river, not the nephew.) What now seems insurmountable, isn’t.
The world is big. The challenges we face aren’t so much. They come and go like passengers on the B-line. At the time of course, those hurdles seem big. Too big. But they really aren’t. Life is short and too many get overwhelmed by the obstacles in their path. Don’t be one of those. Come to terms with struggle, embrace it. But don’t hold those things too long, or too close. They will drag you to depths unimaginable. In fact, don’t hold onto anything too tightly, or take anything too seriously. Learn to laugh at problems and yourself. Laughter makes the hardest things in life a little more palatable.
And so today beloved daughter, breathe. Breathe deep, and know that with each breath I am right here, next to you, four-thousand-nine-hundred and seventeen kilometers away, cheering you on, applauding your successes, sharing your disappointments and smiling all the while, as you take that next uncertain step toward victory.
With so much love and pride,
Papa
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