Drunk on Being Dad

One of the reasons I write is for my daughters. I want them to know me at some point, perhaps when I’m gone but hopefully before that, in a way I can only write about and can’t always express otherwise - thoughts from my more intimate moments of personal reflection. I try to capture funny anecdotes about the shit-show times of parenting. I try to capture the sweet moments I don’t want them or me to forget. I talk about my own life and particularly the loss of my Dad to suicide in ways I just want them to understand but can be difficult to verbalize.

Just a few minutes ago, I wrote in a reply text to an old friend who was just checking in that I was "drunk on being Dad" right now. I wrote it, read it, and it seemed like something I should be sharing with my girls. So, here we are.

Lately, I’ve found profound and irrational joy in the young women they are becoming – which includes the flashes of the little girls they used to be, glimpses of emerging teens, and flash-forwards to the women they will be.

And, even as I write this, I realize I should really be speaking to them, telling them directly the things that have me feeling a little woozy.

Girls,

• I love hearing every sour note as you learn violin. It has been an inexplicable joy.
• I love your confidence at your piano recitals. I love that you chose to do that on your own and have kept doing it.
• I love your spirit of adventure.
• I love when you play together.
• I love when you play pretend with dolls and I love when you are too old to play pretend with dolls.
• I love that you’ve tried sports and performance and debate and art and you’ve found the good in each.
• I love that you are learning about yourself as you explore these things.
• I love the incessant dancing around the house.
• I love middle school dance and orchestra and chorus and musicals in ways I could have never possibly imagined.
• I love the new friends you are making and even that you are starting to let go of some.
• I love that you still want to dance with me (or at least act like it).
• I love that you still want to hold my hand (sometimes).
• I love that you still want to curl up on the couch next to me.
• I love that you have confidence I never had at your age.
• I love that you are funny.
• I love that you can laugh at yourself.
• I love that you can work through it when things don’t go as planned at school.
• I love that you are such a good friend to others.
• I love that you look out for each other.
• I love that you love to travel.
• I love that you love to read.
• I love that you make your lists.
• I love (secretly) that your room is so disastrously messy (like mine was).
• I love the boundlessness of your Taylor Swift fandom and your easy, self-assured dismissal of my Tay-Tay provocations.
• I love that you love our dog (Fitz) so fully.
• I love that you love your cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents.
• I love that you are kind to everyone.
• I love that you are thoughtful.
• I love that you are creative.
• I love that you are inquisitive.
• I love that you let me be me.
• I love that you challenge me every day to become the Dad you need and deserve.

​Parenting is hard and it is relentless.

Sometimes, it helps to stop and have a drink of the good stuff.

Cheers!