The Best of Times, the Worst of Times

Sure, that could be the title of a post on this economy. But it's not. As promised, I'll get to that, soon. But there's something weighing a little more heavily on my mind today. You see, yesterday I moved my daughter - my only child - into her college dorm.

************

When I was growing up, and even when I was in college myself, I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life; not until graduate school would I decide. But I always knew that I wanted to be a father. And from the time I was 13, I knew I wanted a daughter.

That's when my sister was born. My older brother was aghast that Mom was expecting at the age of 39, with Dad being 50. I was ecstatic: I would finally get a younger sibling.

My baby sis and I were inseparable. Dad was too old to teach her to ride a bike, etc., so I did that. I was sort of her surrogate father. And, through those years, I butted heads with my Dad constantly. As a result of those experiences, I figured if I had a boy, we'd be at loggerheads through the teen years, whereas I knew that if I had a girl, I'd always be "Daddy."

(And that I am - just got a text from my daughter to "Daddy," in fact, saying good morning.)

Just before I started grad school, I married. About seven years later, Sydney was born. And from the beginning, she was beyond the daughter that I'd always hoped for.

Our relationship as Daddy and daughter was strengthened when I found myself playing "Mr. Mom" within a year or so of her birth. Her mother began working late, staying out late with friends on weekends, etc. So I'd take Sydney to daycare, pick her up after work, feed her, bathe her, play with her, and put her to bed. Every Thursday, I'd pick up McDonald's for lunch and go to her daycare for a "picnic" with her.

She still remembers that, and I love that she does.

That marriage eventually failed, not long after. It was those late nights, and I'll leave it at that.

But I was blessed that God guided into my life, shortly thereafter, a woman that has been the wife to me and the Mom to Sydney that we always needed. She, more than anyone, is responsible for the remarkable young woman Sydney's become.

The time in between then and now could fill a book. Suffice it to say that Sydney was never a speck of trouble, and grew from a smart, funny, fun-loving, cute little girl, to a smart, confident, funny, talented, beautiful young woman. I miss the little girl, but I so love the young woman.

She plays the viola beautifully - in fact, she's on a music scholarship, minoring in the subject - and this past spring and summer she's played several gigs with our praise band. It's been a blessing and a blast sharing our love of music together, and she's enjoyed playing with a "band."

For about a three-year stretch, starting when she was 13, we rode the MS150 together - a two-day, 150-mile charity bike ride. I had ridden it for a couple years, having gotten back into cycling after a decade's hiatus. Before I began training for the third year, she started asking me about it - how hard it was, etc. I saw an opening, and asked her if she wanted to try it. She said she did, but didn't think she could keep up. So I asked her if she'd try it on a tandem, and she said yes.

I bought a tandem on e-bay, and we started training. How often do you get one-on-one time with your teenager for anywhere from two to seven hours at a stretch? She would talk my ear off on those rides, telling me everything - all about her friends, her thoughts, the line-by-line dialog of that last movie she'd seen. Then we'd hit a hill, and I'd gasp, "Okay, pedal!" And she'd kick in the afterburners, usually forcing me to shift UP as we climbed. I was "captaindad," she was "superstoker" (the rider on front on a tandem is the captain, the rider on back is the stoker).

Eventually, a bulging disc in my upper back and her busy high school schedule forced us off the tandem. But that's about when we began playing music together - just as a duo at first, me on acoustic guitar and her on viola. So we continued to share a common love, and spend time together. She even began singing in our church's contemporary choir with me last summer, and will play her viola for the entire congregation - all 3,000 or so of them - in October.

We've experienced so much together, the three of us. Six trips to Hawaii. About ten cruises or so. Helicopter rides. Disney World. London. Paris. New York. Chicago. The Canadian Rockies. If I had to describe our life in two words, it would be "richly blessed." And she soaks life in like a sponge absorbs water. It's been incredible.

************

As Jude Law says in "The Holiday," I'm a major weeper. Remember my baby sis? I was an usher at her wedding, and I was a total blubbering wreck. As for Sydney, from the day she started kindergarten, when I'd think ahead to her starting college, I'd cry. Sometimes uncontrollably, in a panic, at the very thought.

Still, I've enjoyed every phase of her life, from the Gerber baby look-alike with the big blue eyes, to the deep-voiced toddler with the long curly locks and the most infectious belly laugh ever, to the bob-haired little girl who loved the camera, to the adventurous pre-teen, to the smart, funny teenager ... to the young woman she is today. I wish I could clone them all, and keep them all with me forever, at the same time. My own priceless collection of Sydneys.

Except I've got that. In my heart.

The trouble is, right now I've got something else in my heart: a Sydney-shaped hole.

Oh, she'll always be my little girl, and I'll always be her Daddy. I know this, because she tells me, every time she's seen a tear in my eye since her high school graduation, just a few short months (that feel like hours) ago.

And I'll love every new phase: the confident college student, perhaps studying abroad as a junior or senior; the successful young artist; the blushing bride; the loving young mother; the grown daughter who's helping care for her aging and ailing father, with the love and tenderness that has been in her heart since birth.

But right now, this is a bit hard. Her bedroom, just down the hall, stands empty - temporarily, for now, until the first weekend home. But a harbinger of the void to come.

Tomorrow, I promise to write about the political or economic spectrum, for those readers that follow this blog for that purpose. For now, please excuse me, but my monitor is suddenly blurry.