In A Father's Eyes

I just got done watching The Blind Side and I'll admit it, I was misty eyed. In my youth, I never would have allowed myself to get emotional over TV or movies. All that changes. I think it has to do with becoming a dad. Women (not the ones that let their kids run like animals in the supermarket) have an instinctual ability to relate to babies and children. As men our instincts are more towards making the babies with the women.

When I witnessed (watched is just not strong enough of a word) the birth of my first child, My world changed. I gained a whole new respect for my now ex-wife. In the squinting eyes of my little girl I saw the wall around my heart begin to crumble. I realized for the first time that I was a giver of life, a life I would need to protect and nourish until it could fend for itself. A life, like all others in the universe, precious and fragile. I no longer had the male stigma about emotions, I couldn't afford it now. This little creature would need me to teach it right from wrong, but most important, empathy. Empathy the key to survival and the understanding of it's world and those around it. I would have to try and let go of the veil of suppression covering my naked emotions in order to set the example that this child, my child would need.

That being said, I've never, cried in front of my children. It is my last facade of male ego. I remember the first time I saw my dad cry. It was when my sister and I left our vacation in St. Martin early because we were home sick. I'm not sure how old I was, but I must have been somewhere around my eldest daughter's age. I remember feeling the sorrow as the tears streamed from his eyes and he said goodbye. Looking back I now realize there was also a little pride in those tears. His children were getting old enough to make their own decisions. I'll pause this thought, for now, to interject that my dad was not around much when I was younger, he had a new family that received most of his attention. My mom deserves the lions share of the credit for my sister's and my upbringing. Sometimes I wonder if that made it tougher on my dad to see us reach that stage in life. My sister and I had become young adults and his last chance of seeing our childhood was flying away on a plane.

I am thankful I had and have the opportunity to watch and help my children grow up. My youngest Lizzy, now seven, is testing her boundaries and finding her place in the world. Her ability to take the world head on has caused her to become independent earlier than her sister had. Emily, at twelve, is gaining the teen attitude (the initial longing for adulthood through seeking independence) and is more self sufficient every day. She no longer has questions about the world around her, but questions the world around her.

Even now as I finish writing, the pride for my girls slowly makes it's way down my cheeks and though I will constantly tell them, a false pride will not let me show them.