Lucky 18

My daughter's 18th birthday is coming up. And that should make me happy, and I absolutely am. It's also an unfortunate, depressing reminder of how much time has passed. Reminds me of how long it's been since my baby girl started her journey of life. And how I finally ran out of time to be an influence on her growing up.

I didn't do a bad job. Probably didn't do a great job, but I made sure I showed up. Especially when it mattered, when she really needed help. But there was still a lot of time missed between. Time missed for a myriad of reasons, but mostly due to my own issues.

I tried, I really did I swear. I went to college and stuck with it long enough to graduate. Got married, bought a house, everything young people were supposed to do. I wanted to be a good father and a successful human being. I wanted to be the one that she looked up to when she was in trouble. And I was, to an extent.

I always loved my daughter, from the moment she opened her eyes the first time. And I wanted to do right by her, no matter what. But sometimes your best just really isn't good enough. Sometimes you can't help but notice that your "best" may not be very good. Even if you're the only one that sees and thinks it, you still have to live with that voice in your head.

I'm happy, yet bitter. Happy for her, and so proud of how she turned out spite of life's challenges. And to be fair, I certainly wasn't a stranger to my daughter. I made sure she knew me. I made sure there were pictures of our life, that there were memories of us talking and laughing, going different places and trying new things. I tried to go to every after school play or event that I could. I wanted my daughter to know that Dad was always in her corner.

But most of the help I could provide felt moral, less material. I struggled my whole life to function as what could be called a fully functioning adult. I had problems I didn't understand, namely raging ADHD and autism, nor the proper supports in place. Wasn't anyone's fault, just the reality of the situation.

Not once did I ever do something like hit or abuse my daughter, or her Mom. I never stole from her or tried to make her feel bad. And I never trash talked about my ex her mother in our daughter's presence. Even when the divorce was fresh and painful, I made it a point to never put our daughter in the middle to try and influence her in choosing a side. Her mental and emotional health are more important to me.

But because of all my issues, I could never really be there the way I wanted to be. I wanted to be a positive influence on her life, more than anything. I wanted her to live in a world that was worthy of her, that I could feel safe leaving her when it was my time to pass on. But I was an ant challenging a mountain. I could barely take care of myself, yet here I was trying to take care of another human being. Good luck, future me.

And now the door has essentially closed. My chance to be an influence, to be a part of her youth and watch her grow up, is now gone forever. Time to tally up the points, I guess. She DID know me, and we certainly had our dad-daughter adventures together, so I can say with honorable integrity I wasn't a deadbeat dad. Just not a very useful one.

And I'll still be around as long as fate allows. I'll still be there if and when my daughter needs me, to laugh with or cry with, or just to know I still care. She's already succeeding far better than I did at her age, and I've no doubts that my newly adult princess will soar like an eagle if she keeps striving.

I love that kid and I'm so proud of her. I keep seeing images of her as a child, of the early joys and excitement she felt at the new world around her, learning to walk and talk, playing with toys, and the first time I heard, "I love you, Daddy". And it hurts so fucking much knowing her childhood is over, and knowing all those moments are gone forever. But it's okay, its supposed to be this way. Kids are supposed to grow up and we're supposed to hurt like hell over it. Just more fuel for poetic inspiration, really.

Sorry your dad wasn't a superhero, kiddo. But he loves you, though. He loves you and he was honored (and still is) to be your Dad growing up.