No, on this Tuesday all those years ago, a nurse handed me a little baby girl. Clorinda and I had tried negotiating the gender of the baby. I had learned somewhere (9th grade biology at Kaiser High School, probably) that the FATHER determined the sex of a baby, and since I was the father, I had determined that our first child would be a boy. What dad doesn't want a boy? I had visions of fishing and camping and tossing a baseball in the backyard, and those father-and-son-bonding moments like teaching him how to pee outside and the proper way to spit. Apparently the cross between the English language and 9th grade biology created some confusion in me, because I didn't determine that baby's gender at all. Then again, maybe that's why I didn't do so hot in biology. Despite my determination, that baby was a little girl.
When the nurse handed her to me, I was overcome by a flood of emotion. I didn't understand it, and I'm still not sure I understand it all these years later. I had heard about love all my life. I was pretty sure I finally had it figured out the summer before my fourth grade year. My family, which consisted of my parents and five (yes, 5) boys, yours truly being the oldest, moved in next door to household of five (yes, 5) really pretty girls, all of whom seemed to line up perfectly age wise. I'll tell you, I was smitten and it was a good thing I had really fast shoes so I could show off my manly prowess.
For some reason, that love never blossomed the way I had expected it to. But that was OK, because by 7th grade, I had started middle school and found not just one but TWO (2!) girls I really loved. The first I'd known for a few years, and we decided to be boyfriend and girlfriend. Because I was a really cool guy, I knew that what girls wanted was to be ignored (it makes them like you more), so after we became an "item" I stopped talking to her altogether. I'll let you take a stab at how well that worked out.
Not to be deterred, I became infatuated with a girl in my English class. I say girl, but that's not right, she was a twelve-year-old WOMAN. I was sure she was the one I would be spending the rest of my life with, so I passed her a note. Little did I realize that passing notes to declare your affection was SO elementary school. I think that typing this paragraph took longer than my entire relationship lasted with that girl. Alas.
I finally started to understand love sometime about my junior year of high school. By that time I had an actual, honest-to-goodness real girlfriend. We talked to each other, went on dates, held hands, and even (don't tell my kids, or my wife) kissed on occasion. I WAS FINALLY IN LOVE! It was fun and exciting and heartbreaking at times, too. We made plans for a future that wasn't to be. Like my previous forays into love, it too came to an end.
Fast forward about five years. I had grown up. The hairline had started creeping back (but I was usually able to hide it with little hats and bonnets). I had met this woman (and unlike my seventh-grade infatuation, this was an actual, bona-fide WOMAN) and had really come to love her. For some unknown reason, she loved me too. It was probably the ice cream. (Note to self: write a post about the engagement story...) This love was a much more mature love, although as I write this now, some 20 years later, I realize that it was more mature only relative to my adolescent flings. There's something to be said for growing old together. Regardless, it was mature enough that Clorinda determined that we should get married and she told me the date and time to be there. Since I was in love, I showed up. This was clearly NOT 9th grade biology determination.
Clorinda and I are both the oldest of really big families (8 kids each), and we decided, or rather she decided and let me in on the secret, that we wanted to have lots of kids as well. As many couples do, we experienced some heartache along the way, but after nine months of trying, we found out we were expecting.
So that brings me back to the nurse handing me that little girl, and to love. I loved my neighbor in 4th grade. I loved my girlfriend in 7th grade and the girl that sat behind me in English. I really loved my high school girlfriend, and I LOVED my wife (I still do), but until that nurse handed me my daughter, I did not understand what love was. I didn't know that I could care more about someone in an instant than I did about myself. I hadn't understood that I would want everything good for someone, that I would want to protect and teach and help and nurture and care for for that little person at the expense of all else. That I would ache more than she did when she was sick or hurt, and that if there was ANY way possible, I would have taken that pain away. In that moment, I was overwhelmed with the love that I felt. I thought, in some small degree, I understood God's love for me, because he had blessed me to feel for that little girl the same type of love.
Two weeks ago I helped that little girl pack up her car to head off to college. Seemingly all of her earthly possessions were stuffed into boxes and loaded up, ready to make the trip off to new adventures and a new life. Suddenly I recognized all of my failures as a father. There was SO MUCH I hadn't taught her, SO MUCH MORE I needed to tell her and to do to prepare her for life. I felt a little like Ron Popeil--BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE! Here's how to check your oil, oh, and let me teach you how to drive in snow (yeah, there wasn't much opportunity to teach that skill in Las Vegas), and make sure you turn this off so the battery doesn't drain when your car is parked, and if you act now, I'll throw in this set of steak knives ABSOLUTELY FREE!
I've never felt more inadequate as a father than I did watching her drive away with her mother, but I've never felt more proud, either. I was a real mess. I knew that she would do great in school, but I wasn't going to be there anymore when she got hurt. It's hard to protect your little girl when she's 500 miles away.
And so Heavenly Father taught me something else about His love. He lets us go so that we can learn and grow on our own, and we can have those experiences that will help us to become more like Him. I'm grateful for this added dimension of love that I hadn't understood before.
THM
BUT WAIT, THERE's MORE. I got this series of text messages from her tonight:
today I almost caught the microwave on fireShe's doing fine without me. But wait, M, there's so much more I need you to know. Most of all, I need you to know that I love you. For real.
my roommates love me so much
* * *
But then I redeemed myself bc the spinach artichoke dip was Delilah
*delish
Hahaha AUTOCORRECT
dad we're having such a fancy dinner tonight like it doesn't feel like college
A roast with potatoes, carrots and onions, homemade rolls, broccoli, homemade apple pie
Also salad and my spinach dip.
Also vanilla ice cream with the pie [ed. note: apparently Chunky Monkey was not available]
And I made a really yummy streusel topping for the pie
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