Marilyn loved that her husband was a tough guy — but she wondered what he would think of their baby girl when she arrived. She found out.
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I met Jim in a bar on Sixth Street in Austin, Texas.
“Mindy, I want that one,” I said to my roommate as a group of guys walked across the dance floor. It was my first weekend in Texas and I was wearing my lucky peach wraparound skirt with a big white flower on it. I found him sitting on a stool in a corner while his Army buddies played pool.
It was his 20th birthday, but he had an over-21 wristband on and must have been drinking all day. I started talking and he asked a friend for a cigarette. He took a drag, looked at me, and said, “Does this make me look cool?” I had no idea he was joking and I thought he looked ridiculous.
Jim called me that weekend from Fort Hood and we planned to meet in Austin. Our first real date was at Texas Land and Cattle. I ordered steak and he got chicken. I found out later he was sweating over the menu. He had $30 in his wallet and thought he might have to do dishes to pay for our meal. I ended up insisting on paying as a belated birthday present. Crisis avoided, and I had no idea.
Jim spent weekends in Austin, neglecting his buddies, and I occasionally drove up to visit him in the barracks. I don’t think he really wanted me there other than to show off his girlfriend. There were roaches and uncomfortable cots, and on the weekend they would drink and box (minus the gloves). Someone might end up with a bloody nose or passed out. This was no place for a nice college girl.
The fighting thing also used to happen in my future husband’s childhood home. His parents were divorced and his dad liked a good night of drinking and boxing in the garage with his teenage sons. No one ever accidentally got knocked out in the garage when I was growing up. Maybe this was because we had a small shed that only fit a lawn mower and a few pool toys, but I doubt we would have used a garage for more than storage.
Jim went from being a light-wheel mechanic in the Army to a loader at UPS, with a short stint at the Home Depot, and finally his current job of firefighter. How’s that for a manly list of jobs? We were married soon after he finished the fire academy, and a month later I was pregnant. I loved that my husband was all man, and while he had a sweet and thoughtful side, I wondered what he would think of our baby girl when she arrived. I knew he would be a good dad, I just didn’t know what that would look like for him.
She cried a lot, and if I managed to sneak away for a shower those first few weeks, I would find him pacing outside the door or at the bottom of the stairs with her on his shoulder, her cries rushing me, ruining my cherished “alone time”. I went to all the doctor appointments and wrote down every little thing she did.
He looked like a giant changing diapers on our ten-pound bundle of joy. When I saw she might roll off the changing table and my hand shot out instinctively to catch her, I noticed Jim hadn’t even moved yet. His movements were slow and purposeful. With my constant worrying, I wondered if I would ever be able to leave the house without our daughter under my watchful eye.
But I soon saw that he was just what she needed. While I worried she might fall, he would throw her in the air as she squealed with delight. While I measured every ounce of food and would tickle her awake to finish her whole bottle, he let her lead the way and set her own schedule. I would hear him getting her dressed for daycare, saying, “What should we wear today? Something fly.” And when she had a seizure at 22-months old, he knew what to do.
I had checked on our napping girl and found her in her swing staring into space, vomit on her pajamas. I brought her limp body downstairs, said “She’s sick,” and put her right into his arms, not knowing what to do. He said “She’s seizing” and we called the doctor’s emergency line on the way to the hospital. He talked on the phone while I drove. He described her as “postictal.” I didn’t even know what that meant. I let him take over.
Over the years I have learned to let go, a little. Our daughter is the apple of Jim’s eye. She can hear him breathe as he walks into the room and I see her face light up. He is the best dad and still lets her call the shots. On the last day of vacation last year, he came running back to our blanket after brushing past a small shark. I told him, “You know you have to go back in. She loves the water.” He may not look cool with a cigarette dangling from his lips, but he looks so cool throwing his daughter in the ocean waves.
Photo: Flickr/Troy Hostetler