slyc_willie
Captain Crash
- Joined
- Sep 4, 2006
- Posts
- 17,732
I originally thought to put this in the "Dear X" thread, but figured (perhaps egotistically) that I would contribute a new thread to the AH that was more positive and perhaps even inspirational.
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Dear Daughter;
I did not give you life, not in the classic sense that you are a combination of mine and your mother's genetic codes. I admit that I occasionally feel remorseful for that, even disappointed, but never to any extent that I would ever hold it against you. Just as I hope you won't hold it against me, although, when you become an impetuous and rebellious teenager knowing the truth of your origins, I have no doubt that you will throw that truth in my face. I will try to understand the reasons behind it, when it happens, and maintain my decorum as an adult.
The first time you called me "daddy," my heart literally stopped beating, just for a moment. Not that I wished to die, but because I wanted that moment to last forever. The same thing happened when you first, just a few months ago, in your obscure little way, said "I love you, Daddy." I don't suppose you will remember the tears that welled in my eyes upon hearing that.
You see, I have always always known I would be a good father. I suppose it's one of those things you just know you will be good at, before you even attempt it. I always knew I would make a good soldier, a good investigator, a good leader. And I knew I would be a good father.
Just wait; over the next score of years or so, you'll see.
Anyway, simply knowing that I would make a good father doesn't mean it would be easy for me to be one. In fact, it seems to be the opposite, as per an ironic twist of fate. On more than one occasion, I very nearly helped bring a life into this world. In hindsight, I more or less remain glad that I did not have children with most of the women who became pregnant by me. Save for only two instances, I haven't made the best choices when it comes to potential life-mate and fellow parent.
Several years ago, before you were born, I was almost father to a little boy. It was the closest I had ever come to being a father, and when both he and his mother died, I despaired for ever being a father again.
And then I met your mother. We met inauspiciously enough, on this very same forum, discussing writing and whatnot. That escalated rapidly. Before we knew it, we were meeting for the first time, and let me tell you, there is truth to some fairy tales.
Less than two months later, I met you, my darling little girl. Haggard, tired, confused and scared from a long journey across half the country, when our eyes first met, I doubt you understood the impact I would have upon your life. Nor you upon mine.
You've made a dream come true for me. It's happened in the most inexplicable and unexpected of ways, but I am supremely glad for the way it has turned out, and continues to do so. I take pride in the fact that I have willingly cared for you when you were sick, without balking. I have changed diapers, changed beds, cleaned up toilets, scrubbed floors, administered baths, and all while surrounded by the foulest odors and emissions a toddler could produce. And all while making sure you were tended to, cared for, and loved.
Okay, so once I threw up. I admit that. But I still took care of you.
When you awake screaming in the night, seeing spiders on the walls and monsters in your closet, I don't care about the pain I feel shooting through my leg like a dozen white-hot corkscrews. I hobble if I must to your room and pluck you from bed, and you know what?
You hug me. You clutch me like I'm a lifeline. You know, in the pure and simple and incontestable way only children can know, that I will always be there for you. And I will. When you stumble and fall, when you learn to ride a bike and write your name, when you graduate from elementary school and go onto junior high, and from then to high school, and thence to college (if that is what you want), I will be there, smiling and proud.
Because I'm a good father.
I did not give you life, Little One. But I sure as hell am going to guide you. And when those really important moments in your life happen -- graduation, marriage, whatever -- I hope you will be happy to see me there.
There is a part of me that hopes you will always remain the sweet, excitable, and sometimes pain-in-the-ass toddler you are now. But the greater part wants to watch you grow, and discover, and learn. It's the part that wants to prove to myself and the world just how good a father I always knew I would be. The part that wants you to live the life you truly want, regardless of influences. Because your mother and I only want to give you a foundation; what you build upon it is up to you.
Anyway, I just want to close this message to a future you with a bit of simple philosophy: Do your best, and forget the rest.
Now, get some sleep, and for God's sake, give your mother and I a break now and then from all the whining!
Love,
Dad
----------
Dear Daughter;
I did not give you life, not in the classic sense that you are a combination of mine and your mother's genetic codes. I admit that I occasionally feel remorseful for that, even disappointed, but never to any extent that I would ever hold it against you. Just as I hope you won't hold it against me, although, when you become an impetuous and rebellious teenager knowing the truth of your origins, I have no doubt that you will throw that truth in my face. I will try to understand the reasons behind it, when it happens, and maintain my decorum as an adult.
The first time you called me "daddy," my heart literally stopped beating, just for a moment. Not that I wished to die, but because I wanted that moment to last forever. The same thing happened when you first, just a few months ago, in your obscure little way, said "I love you, Daddy." I don't suppose you will remember the tears that welled in my eyes upon hearing that.
You see, I have always always known I would be a good father. I suppose it's one of those things you just know you will be good at, before you even attempt it. I always knew I would make a good soldier, a good investigator, a good leader. And I knew I would be a good father.
Just wait; over the next score of years or so, you'll see.
Anyway, simply knowing that I would make a good father doesn't mean it would be easy for me to be one. In fact, it seems to be the opposite, as per an ironic twist of fate. On more than one occasion, I very nearly helped bring a life into this world. In hindsight, I more or less remain glad that I did not have children with most of the women who became pregnant by me. Save for only two instances, I haven't made the best choices when it comes to potential life-mate and fellow parent.
Several years ago, before you were born, I was almost father to a little boy. It was the closest I had ever come to being a father, and when both he and his mother died, I despaired for ever being a father again.
And then I met your mother. We met inauspiciously enough, on this very same forum, discussing writing and whatnot. That escalated rapidly. Before we knew it, we were meeting for the first time, and let me tell you, there is truth to some fairy tales.
Less than two months later, I met you, my darling little girl. Haggard, tired, confused and scared from a long journey across half the country, when our eyes first met, I doubt you understood the impact I would have upon your life. Nor you upon mine.
You've made a dream come true for me. It's happened in the most inexplicable and unexpected of ways, but I am supremely glad for the way it has turned out, and continues to do so. I take pride in the fact that I have willingly cared for you when you were sick, without balking. I have changed diapers, changed beds, cleaned up toilets, scrubbed floors, administered baths, and all while surrounded by the foulest odors and emissions a toddler could produce. And all while making sure you were tended to, cared for, and loved.
Okay, so once I threw up. I admit that. But I still took care of you.
When you awake screaming in the night, seeing spiders on the walls and monsters in your closet, I don't care about the pain I feel shooting through my leg like a dozen white-hot corkscrews. I hobble if I must to your room and pluck you from bed, and you know what?
You hug me. You clutch me like I'm a lifeline. You know, in the pure and simple and incontestable way only children can know, that I will always be there for you. And I will. When you stumble and fall, when you learn to ride a bike and write your name, when you graduate from elementary school and go onto junior high, and from then to high school, and thence to college (if that is what you want), I will be there, smiling and proud.
Because I'm a good father.
I did not give you life, Little One. But I sure as hell am going to guide you. And when those really important moments in your life happen -- graduation, marriage, whatever -- I hope you will be happy to see me there.
There is a part of me that hopes you will always remain the sweet, excitable, and sometimes pain-in-the-ass toddler you are now. But the greater part wants to watch you grow, and discover, and learn. It's the part that wants to prove to myself and the world just how good a father I always knew I would be. The part that wants you to live the life you truly want, regardless of influences. Because your mother and I only want to give you a foundation; what you build upon it is up to you.
Anyway, I just want to close this message to a future you with a bit of simple philosophy: Do your best, and forget the rest.
Now, get some sleep, and for God's sake, give your mother and I a break now and then from all the whining!
Love,
Dad
You ARE a good Daddy.
to you, your naughty girl, and the little angel. 
)
