Dad. Where to even begin.
That poor lost soul, thrust into the world of parenthood without an inkling of what to expect. The terrifying idea that he must become the care-taker of a helpless little babe, its innocent and tender life coddled in his worn and calloused hands, must keep him awake at night worrying about all that could possibly go wrong. I can only imagine the endless unanswered questions running through his head as he stares wide-eyed at the ceiling for nights on end: “What if it cries all the time? Will I never get sleep again? Where do I put my hands when I hold it? What do babies even wear for clothes? What happens if I drop it? How bad can I mess up before I scar it for life?”
Most terrifying of all, though: “What if it’s a girl?”
With his vast knowledge of the Packers and power drills and microwave popcorn, Dad dreams of becoming a role model for his unborn son — someone for him to look up to and aspire towards, and for Dad to live vicariously through.
But swap the Y for an X and he finds himself facing the daunting enigma called raising a daughter, inciting sensations of overwhelming confusion and utter trepidation. Rather than the familiar forms of trucks and baseball and dinosaurs, Dad must now study up on various princesses and shades of pink and breeds of horses in order to bond with his daughter. New questions plague him, like “How do you paint tiny fingernails?” and “Will I ever have to buy her tampons?” and “Who is Elsa?” Fathering a daughter is a crazy and challenging experience that each dad addresses differently. But daughtering a father is even crazier. And at times just plain weird — but in the cute, goofy way that only a Dad can make it into.
My dad is a special one, and raising him has been eventful. I’m sure most of you will relate to, and maybe even find hope and salvation in, my experiences.
It started when I was four and I taught my dad to take initiative.
The lesson was covered on the singular day of the year that he was delegated to take me to school. At the time, I had developed a less-than-adorable obsession with my Sleeping Beauty nightgown and staunchly refused to wear anything else, at any time, ever. You’ve all been there and know exactly what I’m talking about. So you know, then, that dressing me in appropriate garb for public exposure was quite the hassle — arguably a job fit for a twelve-person team of professionals. But my dad, like many of yours, I’m sure, was a far cry from qualifying for a position. After several rounds of 1. Dress Cameron, 2. Cameron changes back into her nightgown, 3. Dad rips his hair out and tries again, the charming edge to my act had long worn off and the pressure was escalating. So, after careful consideration and long deliberation, he decided to just put me in the car as is — kicking and screaming and naked.
And that’s how Dad learned to take the reins in the relationship with his toddler.
Skip ahead a few years.
I move to Texas with my Dad for the start of high school. Just us two, livin’ it up in the luxury of condo life and frozen meals. Thrilling as those conditions sound, the real excitement came from the fact that, after nearly a decade of distance and separation, we barely knew each other. So, fourteen-year-old me found herself faced with the grandiose challenge of training this man to be a father figure. And the material she had to work with was raw. Really raw. I mean, his leading quality was that he could make an above average pot of coffee.
My strategy was to structure this adventure as an in-depth exercise in bonding. Interestingly, the greatest successes came as a result of “challenging” him, to put it sweetly. For starters, we explored patience as I began to drive. Occasionally I would turn left on red, or softly graze a curb now and then — just to give him an opportunity to demonstrate his progress. Later on, I covered proper table manners with him in our weekly Sunday brunches, reinforcing the importance of such concepts as personal conversation and face-to-face interaction. He had great difficulty putting down his newspaper to listen to me talk about my feelings, as we girls are wont to do. My rejection and defiance of the 40-hour-a-week study schedules he planned for me helped to build his sense of whimsy.
The most ground we covered, though, was in the area of thoughtfulness. The most remarkable moment as a teacher, when I could really see my efforts manifesting in my dad’s actions, was the morning of my sixteenth birthday.
I woke up early in the afternoon, as per usual, and made my way downstairs. I had no expectations, because it was my dad. What was he gonna get me? Maybe a pen with a pull-out periodic table of elements and a first aid kit, with the note “Stay safe and stay in school — Dad.” (Note: he actually gave me both of those things for Christmas one year). However, and much to my surprise, awaiting me at the kitchen table was the most lovely bouquet of a dozen roses.
To me, this moment was a real highlight. As an act of love and care, it clearly showed his progress and the success of my efforts to guide him in the right direction. And yet, that wasn’t even the best part.
The roses were arranged to perfection — in our blender.
Now this was something that only Dad would do: silly and absurd and just like him.
Rearing a dad is a long-winded and exhausting process, but not without many, many redeeming moments. Like roses in a blender. Or when you have to buy slacks, and he wants to make sure they fit you, so he asks you to point out your belly button to show that the pants reach well above. Or when he asks you before you leave the house for every party if there will be boys — even though he lets you go no matter the answer. Or when he tells you he likes to look at the moon on his nighttime walks, because he knows it’s the same moon you see on the other side of the country. Or when he tells you he cried when he had to leave you at college.
In summary, dads are naïve, gullible, and inexperienced. Dads do bizarre, unexplainable things and send confusing texts. Dads are loving and kind and protective and a wealth of good advice. Every dad wants his daughter to be a daddy’s girl. And every daughter wants her dad to be a daughter’s guy.
So if you ladies out there are struggling through this complex and kind of odd process of raising your dad, know that weird stuff is gonna happen, but that it’s all part of the experience. Embrace those moments, and maybe even find them endearing.
And it’s all worth it in the end when he sends you a text of a vibrating heart emoji.
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