And then there is death...
My oldest daughter is turning ten this week.
She is pretty and smart and fragile and strong. She is an open book. She is a puzzle with a million pieces. She is an old soul tethered to a dark past. She is a bright light shining through a gray sky. She is inexplicably unique yet she is exactly like me.
Oldest: "Daddy?"
Me: "Yes baby."
Oldest: "I don't want to turn ten."
Me: "How come?"
Oldest: "I just don't want to."
Me: "But it wouldn't be any fun staying 9 forever, would it?"
Oldest: "I don't care."
Me: "Don't you want to do all the things you can do when you get older?
Oldest: "Like what?"
Me: "Well you can drive. You can go to the mall on your own and with your friends. You can fall in love. All kinds of great stuff."
Oldest: "I don't want to get married and I don't want to have kids or grand kids."
Me: "Wait a second. I want grand kids."
Oldest: "Stop it daddy. I'm being serious."
Me: "Baby what's wrong? Talk to me."
Oldest: "I don't want to get old."
Me: "Baby, ten isn't old."
Oldest: "Yes it is. When I turn ten I'll be half of twenty and when I'm twenty I'll be half of forty and when I'm forty I'll be half of sixty."
Me: "Sweetheart, half of sixty isn't forty. It's thirty."
Oldest: "You know what I mean daddy."
Me: "I'm teasing. Baby, what are you afraid of?"
Oldest: "I don't want to die."
She starts to cry.
Every time she cries over the real stuff my soul tears just a little bit. I don't mean stuff like losing a bracelet or messing up her homework. I mean the kind of stuff that can make you grow or the kind of stuff that can break your spirit. It's such a fine line. I feel like my job as a dad is to make sure the latter doesn't happen. I have to try and spot her on the balance beam of life. But I know that's impossible. No one has that kind of power. Not even a dad.
Me: "Hey, you have a long way to go before you die. I hope we both do."
Oldest: "But what if we don't?"
Me: "I try not to worry about that stuff pal. It's not up to me."
Oldest: "Are you too old to have a ten year old?"
Me: "I don't feel old."
Oldest: "No. Are you old for having a ten year old?"
Me: "I don't think so. People that are a lot older than me have ten year old kids."
Shit. She's afraid that I'm going to die too. Tear...
Oldest: "Are you afraid to die?"
Me: "Maybe a little. It's normal to be afraid of dying. When I was a kid I felt the same way. I think we only get afraid because we don't know what's going to happen to us."
Oldest: "I guess so. I wish only bad people had to die and good people could live forever."
Me: "I hear ya but that's not the way it works."
Oldest: "I don't think I want to talk about this anymore."
Me: "That's OK. Thanks for telling me how you feel baby. It means a lot to me that you can talk to me about this stuff. It helps me."
Oldest: "Why?"
Me: "It just does. You're a good kid. I love you."
Oldest: "Can we get frozen yogurt?"
Me: "I'll ask mommy."
My oldest daughter is turning ten this week.
She is pretty and smart and fragile and strong. She is an open book. She is a puzzle with a million pieces. She is an old soul tethered to a dark past. She is a bright light shining through a gray sky. She is inexplicably unique yet she is exactly like me.
Oldest: "Daddy?"
Me: "Yes baby."
Oldest: "I don't want to turn ten."
Me: "How come?"
Oldest: "I just don't want to."
Me: "But it wouldn't be any fun staying 9 forever, would it?"
Oldest: "I don't care."
Me: "Don't you want to do all the things you can do when you get older?
Oldest: "Like what?"
Me: "Well you can drive. You can go to the mall on your own and with your friends. You can fall in love. All kinds of great stuff."
Oldest: "I don't want to get married and I don't want to have kids or grand kids."
Me: "Wait a second. I want grand kids."
Oldest: "Stop it daddy. I'm being serious."
Me: "Baby what's wrong? Talk to me."
Oldest: "I don't want to get old."
Me: "Baby, ten isn't old."
Oldest: "Yes it is. When I turn ten I'll be half of twenty and when I'm twenty I'll be half of forty and when I'm forty I'll be half of sixty."
Me: "Sweetheart, half of sixty isn't forty. It's thirty."
Oldest: "You know what I mean daddy."
Me: "I'm teasing. Baby, what are you afraid of?"
Oldest: "I don't want to die."
She starts to cry.
Every time she cries over the real stuff my soul tears just a little bit. I don't mean stuff like losing a bracelet or messing up her homework. I mean the kind of stuff that can make you grow or the kind of stuff that can break your spirit. It's such a fine line. I feel like my job as a dad is to make sure the latter doesn't happen. I have to try and spot her on the balance beam of life. But I know that's impossible. No one has that kind of power. Not even a dad.
Me: "Hey, you have a long way to go before you die. I hope we both do."
Oldest: "But what if we don't?"
Me: "I try not to worry about that stuff pal. It's not up to me."
Oldest: "Are you too old to have a ten year old?"
Me: "I don't feel old."
Oldest: "No. Are you old for having a ten year old?"
Me: "I don't think so. People that are a lot older than me have ten year old kids."
Shit. She's afraid that I'm going to die too. Tear...
Oldest: "Are you afraid to die?"
Me: "Maybe a little. It's normal to be afraid of dying. When I was a kid I felt the same way. I think we only get afraid because we don't know what's going to happen to us."
Oldest: "I guess so. I wish only bad people had to die and good people could live forever."
Me: "I hear ya but that's not the way it works."
Oldest: "I don't think I want to talk about this anymore."
Me: "That's OK. Thanks for telling me how you feel baby. It means a lot to me that you can talk to me about this stuff. It helps me."
Oldest: "Why?"
Me: "It just does. You're a good kid. I love you."
Oldest: "Can we get frozen yogurt?"
Me: "I'll ask mommy."
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