You leave an indelible imprint on your daughter’s heart. What will yours be?
There’s no doubt that dads have a lifetime impact on their daughters. What do you want yours to be? You might be a young dad, or a planning-to-be-a-dad-soon guy, or one with a few gray hairs (or a lot) on your head. You might be one of those dads who has been able to hit on all eight cylinders with his daughter and only wants to tweak the carburetor a little. Or you might have realized, in the course of this book, that you are an MIA dad and want to change that. No matter where you are in your relationship, I guarantee that the daddy-daughter connection can grow stronger. You can make an indelible imprint on your daughter’s heart. You can leave a lasting legacy for the next generation.
A Milestone Birthday Surprise
This week, as I worked to complete the manuscript for this book, I hit a milestone birthday. A big milestone. If you do the math of other references I’ve made to myself in this book, you’ll be able to figure out which one it is. I say this because we men like to problem solve, so I’m helping you out by giving you a problem to solve.
As a baby of the family, I love surprises and celebrating events. My family knows that, so they go out of their way to surprise me. But I had no idea what they had up their sleeves this time, and my firstborn wife was keeping mum. I couldn’t get a thing out of her. She even threw me a curveball. She scheduled a Mexican fiesta on Saturday night (let’s say Mexican food isn’t one of my favorites and leave it at that) and invited a few people over to fool me into thinking that was my birthday celebration. My editor even conspired with my wife to sidetrack me, arranging for the delivery of a huge rainbow of multicolored balloons to equal my birthday years during the fiesta. But the real deal was actually the next day.
More than fifty people—including my five kids and some close friends and colleagues—flew in from all over the nation to surprise me at a big hoopla at a local restaurant. I, Kevin Anderson Leman, was so surprised I was even tongue-tied for a minute. And that rarely happens. My son, Kevin II, masterfully played the role of emcee for his rendition of Let’s Make a Deal, where he handed out prizes to our guests. The plan was to have Kevin start sharing about what I meant to him before his sisters got up and shared from their hearts. He tried on two occasions, and all he mustered up was a couple of sounds. He was so choked up, he couldn’t say what was in his heart. But I did get the message: he loves his dad.
Part of the celebration was a DVD presentation that our daughter Hannah had pulled together. She’d asked people I knew from all walks of life to record a few words. Each of our kids also contributed. As I sat watching that DVD, I had another of those “setbacks,” as my family calls it. I was overwhelmed, realizing the power that a single person can have over others’ lives. And I was humbled to hear, from my kids’ mouths, the indelible imprint I had made on their hearts.
Each of my daughters mentioned she was sure she was my favorite daughter and gave reasons. They all highlighted moments—both little and big—when I had made them feel unique and special. Here are a few of the things they mentioned:
HANNAH: Every Friday morning there was a pink box on the table with a chocolate éclair, and I knew that was from you, for me, because you knew that was my favorite. I treasure all my moments with my family, but the ones I remember most are those with just you and me, Dad. In a family so big those memories are so especially precious. My phone is programmed to say, “favorite daughter” when you call, and I think that says it all.
HOLLY: I’m your favorite, because you’ve known me the longest, so that gives me automatic points. Every Friday morning you’d always have a chocolate éclair waiting for me on the table, because you knew that’s what I liked best. When I was very little, you’d wake me up and take me fishing with you. I hate fishing, but I loved being alone with you. You had an old rowboat with an outboard motor. I always hoped it started so we could go together. There was a peace, a calmness in those private moments with you. I never told you this before, but even now, on all the foggy, gray Tucson mornings, I think of those beautiful mornings on the lake with just you.
LAUREN: When I have any problems, you’re the first person I call. I can always talk to you about anything. I appreciate that even more now, when a lot of my friends don’t have that kind of a relationship with their fathers. I appreciate your generous and open heart and sense of humor. You always made me feel special. Every Friday you’d buy me doughnut with frosting and sprinkles. I’d know it was for me, because it was the only one like it, and you knew exactly what I liked. In fact, I made up a song for you based on all the little moments that have meant so much to me. . . .
KRISSY: When I heard it’s a competition of who your favorite daughter is, I decided to go last, because it’s in the bag. Holly is the brains; I could never compete with her report card. Lauren is extremely creative; she can make something out of nothing. Hannah has a compassionate heart for people who can’t help themselves and travels to Africa; that’s not me either. So what have I done that my other siblings haven’t done? I’ve made you a grandpa. Watching you fall in love with my kids and watching my kids fall in love with you . . . wow, that’s beyond describing. In regard to my own childhood, you and I are like two peas in a pod. I look just like you, and I get really feisty like you. One of the things I remember most is sitting in seventh grade toward the end of the day and hearing my name called over the loudspeaker. I had to go to the office. When I got there, you were there, and you said quietly to me, “Hey, we’re outta here. Baseball. Me and you.” We’d sit behind the dugout together. To this day, when I go there and see anyone sitting there, I think, Hey, you’re in my seat. I grew up there, behind the dugout. On Friday, we all got our sweet treat from you. Mine was always a petit four. Dad, I love ya with all my heart. There’s not a day that goes by when I don’t thank God for a dad like you. That’s how I know I’m your favorite.
Dad, I want you to imagine right now that your daughter is recording a DVD about you. What would you like to hear her say about your imprint on her heart and life? Why not tweak your relationship, starting today, with that end in mind?
I recently received one of the most touching e-mails I’ve ever received, and it was from my second cousin Carol—the youngest child of Carlton, my cousin twenty years my senior. She and her family grew up two streets from me, but she, her husband, Bob, and the kids now live in North Carolina. I have her permission to share the story below.
Kevin, it was great to talk to you. It really warms my heart to hear all about your kids. It’s so awesome that you are so close and loving. Makes me really miss those Andersons. [My mom was an Anderson, and they had nine kids in the family.] All the aunts and uncles were so cute. There were nine of them. I can’t remember a family reunion where there weren’t at least three of those cuties crying with happiness. Makes me really miss my dad too. Even though he could be a bit tough at times, he was such a great dad to me.
Don’t know if you know this, but my dad was in a home for the last few years. Bob, the boys, and I would go and visit him every week. His tiny room was filled with pictures the boys would draw for their “Papa.” My dad had no idea who we were at that stage. Anyway, every time we would go to leave, he would cry and ask us to take him with us. He said even though he didn’t know us, we seemed like real nice people. It would break my heart to leave him.
The day after Easter I went to see him without Bob and the boys. I took him a really big chocolate bunny sucker and a chocolate shake—two of his favorites. As I walked into his room, there he sat, in some other person’s clothing (this was typical), with his Velcro sneakers on the wrong feet.
I sat beside him and gave him his treats. He lit up like a four-year-old sitting on Santa’s lap. I told him what the boys were up to, even though he had no clue who the boys were. When he finished the treats, there was chocolate all over his face. As I was cleaning his face, he looked at me.
All of a sudden he said, “You can go. I’m fine.”
I laughed and said, “I’m not going anywhere.”
He said it again, but this time almost like he knew what he was saying. This took me by surprise since he always cried when I left.
I told him, “Okay,” gave him a hug and a kiss and told him I loved him. As I walked to the door to leave, my dad said to me, “Boy, I never thought I’d be treated this good today.”
I smiled and told him I’d see him in a few days and left.
Ten minutes after I left, he died of a heart attack. I was the one they called. I’m positive he knew he was going to die and didn’t want me to be there. My daddy even protected me to the end.
Love that man.
Now, do you think I could read that e-mail with dry eyes? Not on your life! I wept profusely, thinking about Carol and Carlton, her father—a man I also loved dearly and who was my favorite older cousin—and about my own relationships with each of my daughters. I want to protect them until the end too.
After all, that’s what good dads do.
But note that I said “good dads,” not “perfect dads.” We all fail sometimes. I’m not a perfect dad, but I’m an involved, caring dad. I dodn’t always do the right things, but I have focused on building my relationship with my kids. And you know what? Being a good dad is enough. It has produced five amazing Leman kids. I’m so proud of each one of them.
Daughters who are secure in their daddy’s love will be able to step confidently into life because they know Daddy is there for them, no matter what. Dads who love their daughters, affirm them, and encourage them produce daughters who do fine in school, who find careers that match their talents, and who make wise relational choices.
Those are only a few of the lasting legacies that you, and only you, can provide for your daughter.
What will your legacies be?