This cannot be happening.
The adorable little girl standing in the flower bed with her little summer outfit and the tiny shoes that would fit in my cereal bowl, is turning 18 today.
Eighteen!
I know I should be extremely proud of her.
Proud that she's funny, caring, sensible, good-natured and incredibly intelligent. That she's a solid A- student. That she's already been accepted at 8 of the 10 colleges she has applied, and still waiting to hear from 8 more. That she's kind to her mother, her sister, and sometimes her father. That's she's a good driver, a hard worker and a talented photographer.
I should be proud and happy and glowing about all of that.
But the truth is, I want to scream.
I want to make it stop.
I want to come home from work and see her crawling on all fours in the backyard.
I want to read to her about Zundel the Tailor before she nods off to sleep.
I want to see her marvel at the workings of a garden hose.
I want to lather her hair up with shampoo and make a faux hawk.
I want to see her giggling on stage during the first grade production of Guys and Dolls.
I want to lay on the carpet and play Pretty Princess with her and her sister.
I want what I'm finding out every parent wants, a chance to do it over again.
Only smarter, better, kinder.
Less concerned whether a brain-dead client likes a rough cut and more in the moment of being a Dad.
Truth is, I'd empty half the bank account -- not the whole thing cause I don't want to end up in a dirty nursing home -- to relive any part of what is now just a memory.
This magical Sunday morning would be a good place to start.
7 comments:
What a beautiful, incredibly moving and sentimental post. Once again Rich, you have said what so many of us think, but in a way that only you can express. Thanks so much for letting us be privy to that.
PS. And the photo at the end is priceless.
You don't know me.
I'm a copywriter from Nowheresville, Denver.
But I read your blog everyday, and I'm about to have a daughter myself.
Thank you.
Me too, Rich. Me, too.
best post yet.
going to wake up my 9 year old daughter now to tell her i love her.
Thank you for telling one of life's simple inexorable truths in so poignant a way - I was moved to tears as I read your post to my wife
Terry
This brought a lump to my throat. My girls are 28 and 25 now, and everything you describe seems like yesterday. But I have my first grandson, and I can't wait to do (most of) it again – only this time with a little less rush and a lot more wisdom. Bless you, Rich.
awwwwwwww! I love that picture the most.
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