I watch her carry her plate into the kitchen and I am overcome with a mixture of awe and love. So tall, so straight. She comes back to the table and leans against me, I wrap an arm around her, she hugs my shoulder and she says, “I love you, Dad.” I tell her I love her too and it all hits me.
The times she lives in, the times she will mature in, the times she will live in. I got a letter from an old friend and, by reading between the lines, I could see that the story he was telling about his child was one of drug abuse. A nephew of mine is also teetering on the brink of that abyss, and his parents don’t know. I need to tell them, but I don’t know how.
My friend took his son to ball games and did a lot of things with him. They went across the country one summer, sleeping in the camper on the back of my friend’s pickup and watching ball games in the minor leagues. I thought it was a wonderful thing to do with your son. I will not be able to do that with my son.
Bookzilla walks away and I marvel at this wonderful daughter I have, and I wonder how I will keep her safe until she is able to stand on her own. She is tremendously capable now, but she isn’t ready yet. It will take time, time that we live in.