Your girl will grow faster than a speeding bullet. How to handle the transitions and fine-tune your priorities.
Life is full of transitions, and with daughters whose ages span three decades, I’ve come to realize that, as a dad, I won’t like all of those changes. But that doesn’t mean they won’t come. There’s a toe-tapping DC Talk song that includes the lyrics “Time is tickin’ away, tick tick tickin’ away.”1 Isn’t that the truth? The older I get, the faster time seems to tick away. Funny how that is.
Someday that baby you held in your arms will start to walk. Then she’ll run . . . down the hallway, squealing as you chase her.
She’ll have her first dance with you in the kitchen as she stands on your toes and you move your feet.
She’ll head off to kindergarten with a tiny pink backpack with her favorite cartoon character imprinted on it. You’ll mop up your wife’s tears—and your own—when you drop her off for her first full day of school.
She’ll face her first bully on the playground, and you’ll want to clean the kid’s clock.
She’ll get her first bad grade on a test, and she’ll cry.
She’ll get a training bra . . . enough said.
She’ll have her first crush . . . and get her heart broken.
She’ll wobble out the door in her first pair of high heels.
The next thing you know, she’ll be headed off to prom with a boy who is giving her that Bullwinkle look you remember so well from your own adolescent years.
She’ll get her first kiss from a non–relative who is of the male gender. She may get a lot more if you’re not the dad she needs you to be.
Then, before you know it, she’ll be applying to colleges and packing her bags.
Her First Night Not Under My Roof
My heart was about ripped out of my chest as Sande and I made the drive to college with our firstborn daughter, Holly, and all her dorm stuff in tow. The unloading of it at the school went far too swiftly, with the help of eager college boys who seemed to be casting enough side glances at Holly to risk neck problems the rest of their lives.
Would strangling a college boy be considered self-defense? I wondered briefly.
Would strangling a college boy be considered self-defense? I wondered briefly.
After a full day of meetings, touring campus, and helping Holly set up the rooms, I announced, “Well, we’d better get going.”
My wife, Sande, shot me the look that means, Don’t mess with me, buddy boy. “We can’t leave yet. I haven’t made Holly’s bed.”
Keep in mind this was college, not preschool. But when your wife shoots you that kind of look, you’d better back off if you know what’s good for you.
Five minutes later, with the bed made, there were no more excuses. For the first time in almost twenty years, one of our kids would sleep under a different roof. I could hardly take it. Neither could my wife, but she handled the transition differently.
I watched Sande hug and rock our eighteen-year-old, as if wanting one final moment with her little baby. As for me, I kept my distance. I knew if I didn’t, I’d break down on the spot. What guy wants to be a blubbering idiot in public?
Holly took a step toward me. She put her arms around me and said, “I love you, Dad.”
That did it. I started sobbing . . . profusely.
As I held my daughter in the parking lot at college that day, I wondered where the time had gone. I remembered when she was only 20.5 inches long, and we brought her home from the hospital. I didn’t want her to be cold so I turned up the heat so high we could have popped popcorn in the sink. I checked every ten minutes to make sure she was breathing. Then, when she was ten years old, I stepped on something in my bathroom. It appeared to be a bra, so I assumed it belonged to my wife, yet it clearly was much too small for Sande. In amazement and great curiosity, I carried that thing around the corner and called out to Sande, “Honey, what’s this?”
“That’s Holly’s bra.”
My Holly has a bra? I mused, then chuckled. “This looks like it’s going to grow up someday and become a bra.”
Now the same Holly was grown up enough to go to college. I wasn’t ready to wake up on Saturday mornings and not see her in front of her cereal bowl. Would anybody else eat Cocoa Puffs? Or would they go stale? Funny how strange your thoughts can become when you’re emotionally overwhelmed.
Funny how strange your thoughts can become when you’re emotionally overwhelmed.
Somehow, in the midst of the haze, my testosterone kicked in, and I made a swift exit after asking her to call us that night. I pointed our car back toward home and, by some miracle, we got there safely. I don’t even remember the drive. That night I lived for Holly’s phone call. When the phone rang, I nearly tackled everyone trying to get to it first. But the call was for her sister.
Seven days later, Holly finally called and rambled on about freshman week.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it. “Holly, when you were walking away from us last Sunday when we dropped you off, what were you thinking about?”
“Funny you should mention that,” she said, “because I’ve been thinking about it all week. What went through my mind was, Well, Mom and Dad really brought me up right, and now it’s my turn to go do it.”
Now it’s my turn. I thought about her words then, and I still think about them now as I write this book. That’s what being a good father is all about—training our daughters in the way in which they should go and then giving them their turn.
I got a note from Holly a few days later that included these words:
Thanks for all your encouragement, Dad. Whenever I feel discouraged, I think of all the times you wanted to quit but didn’t. Never forget how much you mean to me.
I love you!
Holly
There was a tone in his voice that tipped me off. It was the middle of October 1998. I was intently watching the University of Arizona football team battle the Washington Huskies. At halftime, Arizona was winning, and I was in a good mood.
Krissy’s boyfriend, Dennis O’Reilly, noticed and decided it would be as good a time as any to let me know he was going to take my daughter away.
For life.
I walked into the kitchen and stopped short when Dennis asked, “Could I speak to you a second?”
Suddenly, the Leman females poured out of that kitchen as if someone had announced a plague. I might be dumb as mud sometimes, but my radar isn’t that dim. I knew something was going on.
Dennis got right to it. “I’d like to have Krissy’s hand in marriage.”
I grinned. I could make this easy . . . or hard. I knew all the girls were in the next room, listening through the door. All I’d have to do was yank the door open, and they’d fall into the kitchen. Talk about a public “private” conversation. I decided to make it easy and welcomed Dennis into the family. I knew he would be all right. He was a young man who, when his father died, quit school and worked for more than three years in a factory to support his family.
But inside, I was still swallowing hard. I remembered how much I didn’t know when I married Sande, and that made me even more protective of Krissy, my first little bird to find a spouse.
Once again, my wife and I were on opposite sides of the spectrum in our responses. I thought of my daughter getting married as a chapter that was closing. Sande insisted it was the reverse—an entirely new book opening for them, and for us.
What to Do and Not Do When Your Daughter Marries
• Don’t ask what she’s making for dinner (especially if she can’t cook).
• Don’t take sides in any disagreement. Memorize the words, “I’m sure you guys can handle it; I’m sure you’ll work it out.” That keeps you out of the line of fire and shows your positive expectation and confidence in them as a couple.
• Shut up until they ask.
• Don’t give them money, unless they request help.
• Keep your nose in your own business.
• Ask about holiday visits. Don’t tell.
When She Says, “I Do”
If any of you are dads who have married off daughters, you’ll feel a shiver of fear when I say I have four daughters. As of the writing of this book, I’ve walked three of them down the aisle and still lived to tell about it. If you think it gets easier after number one, you’re absolutely wrong. My family has developed a new word on my behalf: setback.
On March 27, 1999, Kleenex supplies dipped very low in Tucson, Arizona, as Krissy Leman changed her name to Kristin Leman O’Reilly. But the weeks before it were nearly as challenging.
“Let’s talk about the wedding and make Daddy cry,” became the new family sport.
Krissy showed me the wedding invitations. I cried.
She modeled her dress for me. I blubbered.
For weeks, she listened to various pieces of music to choose a wedding processional. Finally she chose a trumpet piece called “Trumpet Voluntary.” I’d hear two bars of that composition and lose it. Hearing the piece brings mist to my eyes even today.
“Dad, are you going to be all right?” Krissy asked me. Understandably, she was concerned.
“Honey, I have one goal—to get down that aisle. After that, you’re on your own. I’ll be dead to the world,” I managed.
So she made me start practicing with her at home. Suddenly, my knees would become like a bowl of oatmeal, and she had to hold me up.
“Have you considered a wheelchair?” I quipped. “Maybe you could push me down the aisle.”
Concerned her old man would make a spectacle of himself on the most important day of her life, Krissy resorted to some psychological tactics of her own. She tried to “desensitize” me by making me watch Father of the Bride, a comedy starring Steve Martin, about a man surviving his daughter’s wedding. The title and credits started rolling, and I lost it.
“Major setback,” I choked out.
“I really thought we’d get past the words,” Dr. Krissy Leman diagnosed. “You’re worse off than I thought.”
I know now that her two sisters who have since walked down the aisle—Hannah and Holly—completely agree with her. Big-time setback with both of their weddings too.
Sande was smart enough to insist I see Krissy’s words to me on the program ahead of time:
To my dad . . . From baby steps to walking me down the aisle, you have always held my hand, and you will always have my heart. I love you.
By the time Krissy’s wedding weekend arrived, I was numb. I could identify very closely with Steve Martin in Father of the Bride. I had hand cramps from writing out checks, including one for a cake that cost $4.50 a slice, flowers, and even an ice sculpture that mysteriously showed up. But as I gathered in that church for the rehearsal, I saw everyone I treasure the most in one place:
Krissy, the bride
Lauren, our youngest, as the flower girl
Hannah, our first “surprise” child, as a bridesmaid
Kevin II, our son, as a groomsman
Holly, as maid of honor
Sande, my radiant bride of thirty-two years, beaming as she watched our happy family interact
I couldn’t help but think, What more could a man want?
At the Friday night rehearsal, knowing I was such a blubbering idiot, my family planned a surprise for me to lighten the moment. When Krissy and I started down the aisle on the practice run, everybody held up signs that said, You’re brave. You can do this.
When I glanced up front, I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh.
All my life, I’ve been the strength of our family. But that day, my kids and my wife held me up. Together, they were my strength. The mixture of feeling weak and strong at the same time was one of the most profound experiences I’ve ever known. I realized right then that there is nothing in life—absolutely nothing—that can mean more to a man than investing the time in family and having that investment returned.
During the wedding, something wonderful was born when the pastor announced, “Mr. and Mrs. Dennis O’Reilly.” I again felt the pangs of joy and sadness at life’s transitions. During the father-bride dance, Krissy had picked out the song “My Father’s Eyes,” made popular back then by Amy Grant. It was a particularly meaningful song for us, as everyone has always said that Krissy got her long eyelashes and light brown eyes from me.
During the dance Krissy and I cried, laughed, and cried some more.
“Hey, Krissy,” I said, “we’ve always had a special time together, haven’t we? You’ve been such a wonderful daughter. I couldn’t ask for a better daughter.”
“And I’ll always be your little girl,” she answered back.
Holding her close, I whispered to her my hope that she would have the best marriage ever, and that she and Dennis would get to know each other well and share the ups and downs of life with grateful and faith-filled hearts.
Something happened in that moment. I had begun to let go ever since Krissy had announced her engagement, but this dance completed that task, as much as a father’s heart is capable of letting go of his daughter. I remembered clearly the first time we left Krissy with a babysitter. A few years later, we let her spend an entire day at school. Next were the all-night stay-overs at Grandma’s or a friend’s house. Following that were the weeklong camps and then the more substantial partings of college. Every absence was a step to this road when Krissy would no longer be under my direct care.
Something happened in that moment.
I held Krissy tightly, but when the music stopped, I opened my arms and let her go. Krissy had found a new home with a man I was confident would love her and provide for her the rest of her life. The same young man who had quit school and worked for more than three years to provide for his mom and siblings when his father died.
Two nights after I took them to the airport, Sande and I tucked Hannah and Lauren in to bed. But this time, there was no Krissy to tuck in.
Yes, it was strange. Life had changed. It would never be the same again. But life was still good.
“Well,” I told Sande, “I survived. I got through it.”
Sande leaned over my shoulder. “And, to think, we only have to do this four more times,” she whispered.
Making the Best of Your Time
I love how Stephen Covey said it: “Start with the end in mind.” If you are rearing a daughter to someday be a wife, a mom, a professional, a good worker, or the best at whatever she decides to be, you need to start now by instilling qualities in her that will assist her in being successful in those roles. The best thing any man can do is be an actively, positively engaged daddy to his daughter. Men, we all have the same amount of hours in the day. Spending those hours wisely is what’s most important.
So will you choose to knock out an extra project at work and earn a few more bucks? Or will you choose to say to your boss, “The extra money and hours sound great, but I promised my family I’d be home”? Dad, your daughter is waiting for you, even if it seems as if she doesn’t pay much attention to you at times, especially when friends are around.
Leila, an active and confident fourteen-year-old, waits between six o’clock and six thirty every evening for the electronic sound of the garage door opening that alerts her that her dad is home. Then she races for the door to give him a hug and starts jabbering about her day. When she was younger, she used to crawl into a low kitchen cabinet to await his arrival, and he’d have to “find” her, which, of course, meant looking in a lot of other cabinets first while he hunted. “When my dad’s home, I feel happy and safe,” Leila says. “The couple times a year that he has to travel for his job I get antsy because home doesn’t feel the same. Sometimes Mom lets me crawl under the covers and sleep with her.”
See, Dad, how important you are? Isn’t that worth sacrificing some golf outings while your daughter is growing up? Home is not the same without your presence. To your daughter, your presence means safety.
So, if you’re a die-hard football fan, don’t save that for the guys. Teach your daughter about football. Cuddle her right next to your side and explain the game to her; talk to her about her life during the commercials; plan special snacks. “One of my favorite memories is watching Monday Night Football with my dad,” twenty-one-year-old Megan says. “I’d hurry to get my homework done, because it was our time. I’d hustle to get to the couch first, so I could sit right beside my dad, and almost always beat my brothers to the spot.” Megan’s first cooking experiment was baking a chocolate cake in the shape of a football to surprise her dad on his birthday.
Home is not the same without your presence. To your daughter, your presence means safety.
If you like to play computer games, teach your daughter how to play. Then wait a year or less—she’ll smoke you and your buddies. Mia’s dad arranged computer-game weekends three times a year with his group of high school friends who were all still local. The guys came, slept over in sleeping bags, ate “guy food,” and played games. At age four, Mia had her very own station and “played” right along with the guys in a special section of the game her daddy had blocked for her as safe. As an only child, Mia has learned how to relate to guys and watched how guys relate to each other (though she could do without the belching contests, she says) by growing up with this group of guys, who now feel like her uncles. At age thirteen, she’s a game whiz, and the guys shake their heads at being bested by a girl. Next year she’ll go into high school, able to confidently interact with boys and hold her own since she’s used to being around males.
So take a look at your schedule, Dad. Are there things you regularly do that you think of as “guy only” where you could include your daughter? What activities could go, or lessen, that you do by yourself until she’s grown up? Mark plays racquetball at a club with a coworker, but picks up his five-year-old daughter, Shelli, after work first. She watches his game, laughing when he misses a ball, and he reserves a few minutes at the end of his game to teach her how to play. On the way home they stop at Jamba Juice for smoothies. Shelli, a middle child, guards that Tuesday-night time with her dad jealously. A month ago, she chose it over an outing with a new kindergarten friend.
There’s a lost art today called the “Dinner Table.” It’s a place where family members can come together to exchange information and feelings. It’s designed to help the family become more cohesive. How often do you and your family make dinner together, with all members present, a priority? In the typical American family, individuals grab bits of food out of the refrigerator and pantry at different times, or go through a drive-through, eating on the run. They’re like passing ships who give each other an occasional beep of the horn for communication. There’s nothing like food to draw people into conversation. Everyone has to eat. Why not make it the happy event of the day that everyone wants to come to?
Plan special food. For you noncooks, it can be simple. The heart and intention behind it is what counts. Throw out fun discussion questions, talk about memories, and make memories. Most of all, laugh together. There’s an old saying, “The family that plays together stays together.” It’s true. I’d add to it, “The family that plays together and laughs together stays together.”
There’s a lost art today called the “Dinner Table.”
Laughter truly is good medicine.
Our Dinner Date
I’m a single dad. I felt like I hadn’t seen my two high school daughters in weeks because we all had different schedules. I heard you talk on the radio about the dinner table being an important way to draw families together. My first thought was, But I can’t cook. Still, I told my girls I had a special dinner planned. They raised their eyebrows, but we set the dinner date for a night later that week. If you saw my girls’ schedules, you’d know that was a major accomplishment. I picked up Chinese takeout, arranged it on our best plates, dug out their mother’s linen napkins, and lit some candles. Emily and Faith were shocked, to say the least. That night we had one of the best conversations we’ve ever had. Three days later, I announced another family dinner. The girls walked into the kitchen and their jaws dropped. I was boiling spaghetti noodles, had made a salad (with more than one ingredient!), and had the kitchen bar set again with our best plates. Yeah, we had Ragu sauce on the spaghetti, but it didn’t matter. My girls were hooked. Now we have our “Dinner Date” twice during the school week and once on the weekends. It’s a big deal to us. Last week, the girls surprised me and they cooked. They did a much better job than I do! Most important, we’re connecting again. I know their mother is looking down from heaven and smiling, watching us.
—Jerry, Ohio
If you want something to be different in your daddy-daughter connection, the time to start is now. Are too many activities in your life and her life keeping you apart? If so, it’s time to get out the schedule trimmers and go to town.
Is your critical eye saying to your daughter, “You’re not good enough. You’ll never be good enough”? Then it’s time for you to take a hard look at yourself and your expectations. For your relationship to change, you first have to change. Then you need to apologize to your daughter. Tell her you only now realized what you’re doing—parenting like your critical-eyed father or mother did to you—and that you will work hard to change. Ask her to hold you accountable to do that, and her jaw will drop.
If you see areas in your daughter’s life that you’d like to change, start by being a good role model yourself in those areas. Slip in those commercial announcements. For example, let’s say you overhear your daughter making fun of other kids in school to her friends. If you confront her, you know she’ll tell you, “Why do you care? That’s my business.”
Instead, you pull a smart-dad maneuver. Over dinner, you casually say, “I learned something about myself today. At break time I caught myself talking bad about a coworker to another coworker . . . just when I’d vowed I’d never do that again. It’s hard to change old habits, but I’m sure determined to work on them.” Statements like that make your daughter think, because you, Dad, walk on water in her eyes. Right now she’s processing. Wait a minute. You mean my dad struggles with stuff like that too? She’s far more likely to admit her problems to you if you don’t put yourself up on that “I’m perfect” pedestal.
Do you expect the best of your daughter? Do you trust her? Do you reveal that to her in your words and in your actions? One of the trickiest things about fathering is learning when to hold our daughters close and when to let them go. It’s an ongoing process.
The greatest accomplishment you can ever undertake is preparing your daughter—the next generation—to take over her world. So give her a good start:
• Focus on the relationship that matters most to her: your daddy-daughter connection.
• Do what you can do, and don’t bemoan what you can’t.
• Get to know your daughter as an individual.
• Live a disciplined, balanced lifestyle yourself.
• Share with her your male perspective.
• Stay steady and calm in the heat of battle between those of the female gender.
• Keep an eye on your critical eye.
• Remember that your daughter doesn’t need stuff. She needs you.
• Encourage and affirm her.
• Fine-tune your priorities to make the best of the time you have on this earth.
You don’t need a PhD to figure out your daughter, but you do need a listening ear.
You don’t need to lie awake at night thinking about what you’re not able to give your daughter. Instead, give her what you do have in abundance: the gift of yourself.
There’s nothing your daughter wants more than a daddy-daughter connection.
A Good Dad’s Quick Reference Guide
• Fine-tune your schedule.
• Create opportunities to interact with your daughter.