Tor Constantino shares a father’s heart regarding a rite of passage for his oldest.
Last week my oldest daughter successfully completed 8th grade and proudly declared, “Yeah, now I’m a high schooler.”
In all honesty the looming specter of high school palls in comparison to what I felt two weeks ago regarding her first formal dance at middle school.
Everything went smoothly, she had a great time and returned home safe-and-sound; however, within the span of a few hours leading up to the event my heart ran a gauntlet of emotions worthy of a tough mudder.
What can I say—I’m a dad who emotes.
Because that’s what parents do.
♦◊♦
Pride
For weeks, my wife and our daughter have been scouring dress racks all over town trying to amalgamate the perfect calculus of sequins, fit, proportion, silhouette and shoes….(good God the shoes!)
But when it was all said and done, my daughter descended the stairs on her way to the dance and she took my breath with her.
We’ve always stressed to our children as they’ve grown that it’s more important to be beautiful on the inside than on the outside.
But that night her radiant beauty caught me in a way it had never done before, inexplicably filling my brimming heart beyond its meniscus of pure love to cascade with a sense of pride that I was the father of this beautiful girl.
Because that’s what parents do.
♦◊♦
Loss
The realization soon struck that this sensation was a foreshadowing of a not-so distant day when she’ll marry the love of her heart, leave our home and possibly take another name.
The sense of loss was palatable and real like the briny backwash in the back of your throat from the faceful of an ocean wave that catches unawares.
Disorientating and unexpected, but I stumbled through.
Because that’s what parents do.
♦◊♦
Fear
The next seemingly illogical progression of emotions for me occurred as I watched her ride away with her friends to the dance—while fear slowly spiked my heart with an icy pick.
Not a fear that I’ll lose her love—I know I’ll always have that no matter what.
It was fear of being forgotten by her as she’s caught up in the world-changing giddiness of youth and the desire to brand her future days with her dreams.
That fear set on my soul almost instantly like the groping, inky darkness of deep woods beneath a lightless sky when your last candle burns out.
I fear that being forgotten by a loved one is a worse hell than being unloved—but it’s a hell I’ll risk.
Because that’s what parents do.
♦◊♦
Hope
Another reality that parents must realize is that our lives are not our own. My wife and I have poured—and will continue to pour—our lives into our children to give them hope, a vision for their futures and dozens of dancing days for our daughter.
Because that’s what good parents do.
Once I recognized that hope, it sparked an inner blaze that consumed both my dark fear of being forgotten and me as well. I was caught up in her firey hope because I know I’ll be a part of it and her life going forward.
Because that’s what good parents do.
♦◊♦
Now if I can just get through her junior prom in three years….
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