Like most adults, I have several roles that I play in life, but since the day that my daughter was born, the most pivotal, challenging, and most of all rewarding one, has been that of Daddy. I've been called many names before, some unfit to print here (thanks, mom), but the one that I've enjoyed hearing most is "Daddy". And at times, it seems as if my daughter is determined to be the only one that will ever call me that. There have been a few exceptions, but I'm determined to keep this post rated "PG", so I'll just gloss over those.
But then, it hasn't always been that way. I can recall when my daughter was 5, and we were in the local supermarket, looking for the shortest checkout line while I pushed our cart full of groceries, and my daughter reached up and grabbed my arm, shaking it to get my attention, and was excitedly yelling "Dad! Dad!" I was hoping that she had spotted a very short line, but thought that with my luck she simply wanted to point out that I had toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe. And that it was used. But as it turned out, I was wrong on all counts. I then asked my daughter "What? What is it?" She then pointed towards an attractive female checker and excitedly shouted, "Look! Look!" (Now when you picture my daughter speaking as a five year old, you have to keep in mind that at the time, she had a speech delay, which made her sound like a 3 year old. It sometimes bothered her, but I thought she sounded adorable.) "Look at what?" I asked. "Look at that girl Dad!" "Well, what about her?" "She's PRETTY Dad!" I laughed and responded, "Well, yes, she is. But why are you telling me this?" She turned to me and said with a smile on her face and a tone in her voice that indicated that she was merely stating the obvious, and answered, "Because...You LIKE pretty girls, Dad!"
I was both shocked and relieved. Had I been that obvious in my attraction to women? For a brief moment, a slight paranoia struck me and I began to pat down my shirt to see if it was wet from drool, and to look around me to see if some supermarket worker had placed any of those yellow cones around me that said "wet floor/mojado", either indicating excessive drool on my part or questioning my right to be in this country. I had always considered myself discreet when casting an admiring eye on a woman, so I just figured that my daughter was quite perceptive. She probably figured that there must be some reason we were always getting extra tokens from the female workers at Chuck E. Cheese. And I was encouraged that she seemed to be accepting that her single Dad would be attracted to women, and what's more, seemed to be more than willing to point them out to me. Not only was that a relief for me, but it seemed to have nice possibilities.
Years before I had become a father, I had been somewhat of a father figure to my youngest sister, who is 16 years my junior. I bought her first bikes, taught her to ride them (and file the serial numbers off of the frames), took her to parks, the zoo, and to amusement parks, and taught her some of the things that kids need to learn in their first few years. And unfortunately for me on one occasion, one of those things was self-defense. One of the unexpected benefits of being such a good big brother and taking my kid sister almost everywhere with me, was that many women find it appealing when they see a man interacting well with a child and being an active participant in their life. And like some perceptive young men, I sometimes used it as an opportunity to strike up chats with attractive women that I encountered in public. One of those occasions was when my then-5 year old sister and I were waiting in a check out line at the local Sam's Club. I wasn't 20 seconds into a conversation with an attractive woman in the next line, when my kid sister decided to demonstrate on me the effectiveness of a straight right punch to the crotch of an unsuspecting male. As it turned out...it was quite effective. Effective in causing me to lose my air, buckle my knees, change color a couple of times, and in causing the attractive young woman to cringe in sympathy before proceeding through her check out line. And of course my sister stood there with a smile on her face, as if expecting to hear a "Thatta girl" from me and encouragement to pick the candy of her choice from near the checkout stand. As if I would be capable of any kind of speech for the next 20 minutes. I think the only voice she should've expected to hear was the one over the PA system requesting a "Clean up on check stand 4."
So, flashing back several years ahead, and with my hands instinctively shielding my crotch area, my daughter and I proceeded through our supermarket check out line, and I pondered the thought that my luck may have changed, and that I just might now have an effective wingman.
That excitement was very short lived however, because not too long after, while taking her back to her mom's house after one of our weekend visits, I had to make an urgent stop at a bathroom, because I had made the mistake of drinking way too much liquid before the nearly 2 hour drive. Just before I burst into the men's room at the local Wendy's Restaurant and my bladder burst on me, I made eye contact with a very attractive woman who was standing in line to place her food order, and we exchanged smiles. Being that I had my daughter with me, I don't think that I would've asked her for her number or anything, but the thought of another quick exchange of looks and flirtatious smiles would've been a nice way to stroke my ego, so I was hoping that I'd see her again after my quick visit to the bathroom. I did, and slightly sooner than expected. Although I was in the bathroom less than 2 minutes, to a 5 year old who's waiting in the hallway and has no concept of time, that seems like an eternity. So when I exited the bathroom, and Lo and behold, made eye contact with the attractive woman from earlier, who was now on her way to her own bathroom break, my daughter promptly blurted out, "Man, Dad! You took a long time!!!" As if in very painfully slow motion, the attractive woman's smile transitioned to a look of embarrassment (for me), and she then averted her eyes away from me and down toward the floor. Of course, my smile quickly left my own face as well, and the only one in the vicinity who seemed to manage to hold onto theirs, was of course, my daughter. In fact, I could've sworn her smile got wider...like a Cheshire Cat. But then again, that was probably just my paranoia kicking in. Probably.
But being the kind of person that tries to remain positive, and who gives people the benefit of the doubt, I chalked up the experience to mere coincidence and figured it might've been a fluke. But then a couple of months afterward, while innocently joking and chatting with the young lady working at the Burger King drive-thru, I turned toward the backseat to hand my daughter her kids' meal, and was met with a look that was both quite suspicious and cynical for a 5 year old. A look and a smirk that said, "Why don't you just quit your job so you could flirt full-time?" Sigh...I was beginning to think that the days of my daughter being my wingman were over before they even got started.
And I became positive that this was the case when after watching a Shakira music video, I turned and asked my daughter, who up until that moment was orchestrating a lively discussion between 2 Barbie dolls as to who would get to go with Ken and Scooby Doo to the movies, "How would you feel if your Dad decided to get married?' The way that my daughter dropped her Barbies (and her jaw dropped too) indicated that they were now probably headed to the Mattel Emergency room instead of the theater, and that she really didn't like the idea of her father having a female companion. I was joking of course, but she obviously didn't find anything funny in what I had said. And I was a little surprised at such a reaction. I then half expected to later find her cutting letters out of a magazine to paste them on a piece of paper, spelling out subtle threats to be mailed to Shakira. Of course, she probably receives plenty of letters warning, "Stay away from my Dad!" And probably mailed by their mothers...
And on another occasion, while my daughter was again playing with her Barbies on the floor of my bedroom, and Shakira was again letting people know that her "Hips don't lie", I jokingly made the remark to my daughter, "Look at your future step-mom, dancing on tv." My daughter then turned towards the tv, and stared for a while before turning back towards me. I don't know what she was thinking while she was staring at the Colombian beauty dancing, although something to the effect of "That tramp?!" probably wouldn't have been out of the question. My daughter then turned her look towards me and sat there without a word before turning her attention back to her Barbies. I realized that "Daddy's Girl" in her mind, meant that there really wasn't any room for others. At least not any time soon. So I sat down with her and assured her that I was only joking with my remark, and that she would always be Daddy's number one girl, no matter what. And we both then decided together that it would be a good idea for Barbie to put on her Mariachi hat and sunglasses before jumping into her jeep to drive herself and her friends to the beach.
And it's always been that way, with my daughter being my number one girl, and everything in my life, whether it be work, dating, or whatever, being secondary to, and revolving around my time with her. And that's how it should be. A few years later, when my daughter was 10, and we were sitting on top of the Ferris wheel at Knott's Scary farm, admiring the night lights, I mentioned to her that this might be the last time we do this together. She laughed, as if I were joking, and asked, "Why?" To which I responded, "Because even though you don't understand this right now, there's going to be a time soon, when you're not going to think it's so cool to hang around your Dad, and you're going to prefer to visit places like this with your friends or cousins. Instead, you're going to be asking me to drop you off, and telling me that you'll call me when you're ready to be picked up. You might even ask me to duck down and drop you off around the corner." My daughter giggled in amusement and gave me a look of "Ok, Dad...Senility is hitting you early..."
My daughter is going to be 13 soon, and as predicted, Dad isn't quite as cool to be around as he used to be. She still hasn't handed me a Chauffeur's hat yet while I drive her around, but she definitely enjoys her alone time and she opts out of some of the things that I suggest we do together. She still laughs at my stories though and listens attentively when I teach her life lessons, and I am still convinced that she probably respects me more than any one else in the world. And while I loved and miss my role as her oldest playmate, I take most seriously my roles as perhaps her most influential teacher, and the primary male figure in her life. And hopefully, the many by whom all future men in her life will be measured, because they sure don't seem to make them like they used to. I'm sure that by now, she'd be better accustomed to the idea of there being a special woman in her Dad's life, although still, my daughter would be the priority.
Life is a cycle, and our roles, and sometimes the nature of our relationships, have to change somewhat. We hold our children tight when they are young, only to let loose our grip when they grow older. We look forward to the the day that they can walk, only to see them eventually walk away. But hopefully, the ties that we have with them, the connections that we've made and strengthened, are like a bungee cord, allowing them freedom to roam, but the with the prospect that when they reach their limits, they can always return.
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