Day 3: How Did I Get Here?

Nine. 

Alison, my first-born child, turned nine years old today, and I can’t quite describe how amazing that is to me. Do you remember when you were young and time moved about as fast as a glacier carving its way across the Great Plains? It could never get dark fast enough on the Fourth of July, and the sun would never rise when you wanted it to on Christmas morning. Hours seemed like days, months like years. 

How things change when you get older. When you come to a milestone like this (and who says that milestones have to be round numbers? Can’t nine be a milestone?) everything in your life stands against the door jamb to be measured. Ten years ago Leslie and I were only a few months away from our wedding, and our life already seemed full with just the two of us. Somewhere along the road from there to here we’ve bought and sold a handful of cars, seen neighbors come and go, added two daughters and a son, and sat through countless basketball/soccer/swimming/drama practices. But how did it all happen? How did we really get here from there? 

One of my favorite bands, Talking Heads, asked the same question much more eloquently (and with a better beat): 

And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile 

And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife 

And you may ask yourself – well, how did I get here? 

This is how I got here. It started when Alison first entered the world, announcing her arrival with short, frantic breaths to appease lungs desperate for air. Her eyes squeezed tight to shut out the light, her delicate fingers stretched wide waiting to be counted, her lips the deepest red. As she lay on Leslie’s chest, seconds from the womb, I hugged them both and we were a family... 

A year later – or was it eleven months or thirteen? – she was walking, tottering back and forth across the four feet of carpet that stretched between her mother and father, her eyes first opened into enormous circles at the risk she was taking, then pinched into slits of laughter at the thrill of it all… 

I was lucky enough to stay home with her for a stretch of nine months, and these were days I’ll never forget. When Leslie left for work she’d deposit Alison in bed beside me, and we’d sleep for another hour or two. Each morning I’d wake to a tiny hand on my face, gently patting away my dreams… 

Her world changed forever when she was two when Henry was born and she became a big sister. I remember standing in the hospital nursery with Henry hours after he was born, and seeing Alison on the other side of the glass, completely mesmerized by her brother. Later she would hold him for the first time, beginning a bond that would prove to be stronger than pulled hair, shoves in the back, stolen toys, and an alleged push off the slide which led to a broken arm. Through it all, they still love each other… 

 

We took her to pre-school for the first time when she was three, and she painted pictures, played with blocks, dug in the sandbox, and made her first friends. One of my greatest joys was picking her up from school. When the other kids saw their parents, they’d either call out a greeting or leap from their carpet squares into welcoming arms, but Alison was different. Her eyes would lock on mine, her hand would secretly wave, and she’d slowly rise to leave. Alison is never in hurry, not then and not now… 

Soon after she turned five, Alison insisted on learning to ride her bike without training wheels, showing the fierce determination inherited from her mother. I looked forward to playing my part in the time-honored tradition of fathers teaching their children to ride a bike. No doubt I’d spend part of the afternoon running crouched over behind her, holding her seat as she wobbled up and down the street, and the other part applying kisses and bandaids to skinned knees as she failed. But instead I pushed her once and watched her ride away without me, which made me terribly sad and incredibly proud all at the same time… 

Two months later her sister arrived and was given the name that Alison had chosen, Kate. In truth, “Kate” was one of three finalists, the other two being “Carrot” and “Elephant.” 

I think it was when she started kindergarten  that I first began to see myself in Alison. People had already begun telling me how much she and I looked alike, but as her personality developed, it started becoming clear that the similarities were much deeper. When she was excited about something, she often kept it to herself. She sometimes became distant and withdrawn for no apparent reason, only to emerge happy and refreshed a short while later. She worked slowly and methodically on her schoolwork, and took ages to complete simple tasks at home. She was her father’s daughter, for better or for worse… 

In the years that followed, she developed a love for Hannah Montana, Derek Jeter, and reality television, and showed her athleticism by running track and playing basketball and soccer. She’s taken up the violin, and she has overcome her shyness in order to run for student council and perform in school plays. Recently she has even learned to crochet. 

As we sit here, balanced precariously at the midway point between her birth and her 18th birthday, I find myself looking forward as much as I look back. I can guess what the next nine years will hold – makeup and training bras, boyfriends and curfews, dented fenders and broken hearts. And even though there will be times when she won’t need me, secrets that she won’t tell me, and heartaches she won’t share, I hope that these first nine years have taught her one thing. Even as she’s pushing her limits and riding away from me, I will still be there running beside her, ready to catch her if she falls. 

Nine.