A Different World

I guess I always knew this day was coming.

Even as I awoke this morning, I could feel life spinning on its axis, not out of control, but like the earth changing seasons. The tilt came slowly, like the transition between spring and summer. Perhaps I'd been putting off the inevitable, of thinking about what this morning and day would look like. Perhaps I thought that life would simply come skidding to a halt when I asked it to. Perhaps there is a little bit of that in all of us, a spark of the eternal, a glimmer of the immortal that assumes a piece of invincibility. Perhaps we all have that hopeful piece in us but today, that ceramic piece of my psyche was broken in a million pieces on the floor of life.

Today, I brought my little girl to high school.

Elsa woke up in a brilliant, glorious mood. For her, this would be an excursion into the bright future. It was a glimpse into the inevitable beauty, for her, of growing up. For a few years she has been making her own breakfast and lunch, doing her homework, helping with household chores, but it wasn't until today that I noticed she has begun to move beyond childhood. Like a shimmering boat she is moving out onto the horizon of a new world and I am left standing on the shore waving, waving so hard, praying desperately that the winds will not blow her sails and take her away too quickly. I watched Elsa prepare for school this morning and as much as she glowed for the day, I was not prepared for it.

On the way to school Elsa whistled and gabbed. She wanted to talk about all the things that the next year of school might bring: challenges in mathematics, science would be really fun, oh, Daddy, can I be in the choir? The only word I could connect with was 'Daddy.' High school, how can that be? How can the years pass so fast? How can I be so unaware of the passage of time that I don't realize that the next part of my life is approaching so rapidly, like a relentless waterfall that is drawing me towards the cliff?

Soon, I will stop being Daddy to her, I would guess. I'll just be 'Dad' or, as she learns from others, one of the 'runts' concerned only with curbing her fun and being a veritable stick in the mud. But, I smiled and assuaged any of her fears about meeting new people. It would be fun, I told her, she would fit right in. But inside, this Dad's heart was ready to break apart. Maybe the next two will be easier, but this day would be different than any other I had encountered.

We arrived at school; she helped me set up for chapel chirping all the way about how fun the day would be. The shades were pulled in the chapel. Small amounts of light filtered through the slats and onto the floor and I watched with fascination as my daughter, still so young, jumped between them. Other students began to slide into the room in twos and threes and my young Elsa, still insecure enough in strange settings, ran to her father looking for support. It was so precious, and like all the times in the past eleven, going on twelve years, Elsa subconsciously reached out to put her hand in mind. Her child-like faith that her daddy would always be there. She looked up at me with the largest of smiles, the ones reserved for only little girls' dads, beaming with all the joy of a child in a world full of gumdrops.

And then I did it. I didn't plan it and I certainly didn't think that I had the power to do it but...

I pulled my hand from hers.

It was like a switch had been flipped in this world - it became a little darker place. I thought I was helping her, helping her to make her way into an adult world. she couldn't always have her dad around. I told her it would be the best way for her to make friends, I tried to make a joke of it - you won't want to be around an old guy like me.

She looked at me as if I'd slapped her. Her face fell; she pulled her hand away from mine as if there was electricity leaking from my finger tips. Sensing the hurt, the betrayal (most of it was my own projected upon her) I asked her if she was okay. She said, yes, Daddy, and walked away from me. And as she walked away, every memory of her growing up years, her curly hair bounding through the grass as we went camping, her overalls protecting her from every bump in the road, her first book, her first tooth lost, her first day of school, her first lesson - everything flew in front of my vision and I realized that the past would be all that I would have soon enough. As Elsa walked away from me, the future came rushing at me - soon enough she would be graduating from high school, university, marriage and I would be that Dad that pulled his hand away from her.

But I had to; I have to let her grow up, don't I? Does every father feel like this? Does every parent want to rush back to those wonder years of childhood and count every single precious second and redo them, to see those little giggles and cuddles, falling asleep on my shoulder, asking for help for everything?

I made my way through the day trying to keep my head above the endless tide of emotion that is threatening to consume me. I smiled for the other students; cracked jokes with them, taught them a new song, made them feel welcome, but all day I kept one eye on my Princess (that's the name I have called her since day one.) I saw her throughout the day, but, in my own mind, all things were different.

As the day of school closed, we gathered all of the new students in the chapel and did some fun games. Those youth were happy, their parents proud (I just as much, believing my Princess to be the most beautiful, the smartest, the greatest child in the room) and the sunlight seemed to have changed to a different color - golden, I guess you'd call it. It flickered on Elsa's face for a little bit and I paused to stare at this beautiful gift that God has given us.

It has all gone too fast.

After all the youth had packed up, my Elsa came up to me, told me about her day, excitedly speaking about math and science, art and drama and especially music. And then, without thinking, Elsa looked up at me, smiled and put her hand back into mine.

Life happens. And on this different day, in a different world...

I call it good.