Posted by
BrianR on Wednesday, March 14, 2007 10:35:08 PM
“If I could save time in a bottle…”
Jim Croce
I have a daughter, Nikki, of whom I’m very proud. She’s come a long way in her life, and is on the threshold of some major advancements during the course of this year. In September, she’ll turn twenty-one, a milestone in everyone’s life. Later that month, she’s getting married. A few months after that, she’ll be graduating from college.
My daughter is the light of my life, and fathering her was the best and most fulfilling thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. I saw her born. I was there when she took her first steps, and captured it on videotape. I well remember her dancing to music videos in the family room as a little girl. Every night, we had “Special Time” – time we dedicated to an activity together – and she would get to choose what we did. When I was a young man, if anybody had ever told me I’d be lying on the living room floor playing the “Barbie’s Dream Date” game, I’d have laughed in their face.
Sometimes Nikki would choose dancing. I’d put a Beach Boys CD on the stereo, and we’d dance, which entailed me carrying her in my arms while I danced around to the music. Only one of us worked up a sweat. We both loved “Kokomo”.
She wanted to go everywhere with me. We were quite the couple at Lumber City. I sometimes took her with me to the construction sites; she really loved that. When I took her flying, I’d let her take the controls after I had the plane trimmed out. She vowed she wanted to be an airline pilot when she grew up.
She used to hold my hand wherever we went, until the time came when she felt she was too old for that anymore, but didn’t know how to break it to me without hurting my feelings. When I’d take her to school, at the curb I’d hold out my hand for hers, but all of a sudden she’d “need” to adjust the straps on her backpack, or cover her mouth for a coughing fit, either of which coincidentally lasted for the amount of time it took to cross the street. Of course, I knew what was happening, but I let it continue for a few days until the day when her contortions were so extreme that I burst out laughing, and told her I understood the situation.
My pet name for her was “Doodles”, short for “Doodle-Bug”. I’ve forgotten how old she was when she forbade me from using her nickname anymore; mid-teens, I think. Now and then she’ll still sign her name on greeting cards that way, though. She loves her Old Man.
We went through some of the typical teenage angst together, but she and I have always had a special bond, and that period wasn’t too bad. Some extra gray hairs; I’ll survive. More importantly, she did. She looked beautiful for her Junior Prom. She looked absolutely stunning for her Senior Prom. I’ve got the pictures to prove it.
Now, she’s become a young woman, acquiring grace and poise. Sure, there are still the minor – and occasional major – crises. We deal with them. But every time I see her, I’m simply stunned at the young lady in front of me.
And every time I see her, I also see the little girl she used to be. It’s funny, the tricks your mind plays on you. Life is a collage of vignettes, a montage of scenes and mental snapshots, translucent images projected onto the screen of reality.
All of these things seem like they happened only yesterday.
Time is the greatest thief of all.