One afternoon I was getting ice cream at McDonald's with my 7-year-old daughter. I’d just finished taking her to gymnastics. We were driving across town when I realized that it was just us, just Norah and myself, and I thought, "Wow, this just so rarely happens."
Norah is a middle child, with a 2-year-old little sister and a 10-year-old big brother. Although I wasn’t a middle child, I can already tell that Norah sometimes feels left out. She received a lot of hand me downs from her older brother: toys, clothing, you name it. And her little sister is a toddler, who demands a lot of attention.
My wife and I didn’t make a huge deal out of Norah being born like we did with my son, and she saw us go lax on her younger sister when it came to rules, because that’s what parents tend to do.
It’s only in hindsight that I've begun to understand the challenges of being a middle child, which is how it began to dawn on me how important it is for me to take advantage of these moments when it is just me and her — partly because she’s the middle child, but mostly because she’s my daughter, and I want her to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she is very special to me.
It's not that she’s more special than any of her siblings. That’s not the case, and I don’t think that’s a good lesson. However, I want her to know that I care about her. I want her to feel like she gets the attention she needs from me, and the only way to do that is to spend time with her individually, without her younger sister clawing at my leg or her older brother complaining about this or that like all preteens do.
With that in mind, I’ve made it a point to take Norah out from time to time for a daddy-daughter date.
Honestly, it’s never a huge thing. For instance, once every summer our church does a daddy daughter camp out, so I always take her on that, and outside of camping once a year, it’s usually just a trip for ice cream, or the store, or the park.
Sometimes we just sit at home, together on the sofa, and watch a cartoon of her choice, usually My Little Pony. The location isn’t all that important just yet.
What is important is time together.
Back to that afternoon at McDonald's and how I realized this is a commitment that each parent should make.
Norah and I sat across from each other at one of the tables with really high stools. Norah thought that would be cool, so I lifted her up onto one. I spent about two dollars for us each to get an ice-cream cone, and we sat and stared at each other for awhile, eating ice cream in silence.
It usually takes her some time to warm up.
Eventually, Norah told me about gymnastics. She told me about the pommel horse (only she called it the hobby horse) and the spring thing that she loves to jump on, and how she fell off the bar a couple times. She told me about school and Twilight Sparkle from My Little Pony, and how she hates math but understands that she has to do it.
To be honest, I didn’t say all that much. I just listened. I asked a few questions. I gave a little advice. After about 30 minutes, we were done. As I was opening the van door to let Norah in, she wrapped her arms around me and said, “Thanks, Daddy. I love you.”
Norah’s a snuggler, but there was something more to that hug than what I usually get before work or after putting her to bed. It was a tight squeeze, one of appreciation and compassion. It was the kind of hug that all dads long for, that makes them melt.
I crouched down and asked her a question that I ask her more than I probably should: “Are you always going to love me like this? You won’t ever become an angry teenager and hate me, will you?”
Norah looked up at me with bright blue-green eyes. She smiled, her front two teeth missing, and said probably the most honest thing she could, “Not if you keep buying me ice cream.”
Then she giggled and I thought about what she said. I don’t think she fully understood what I was asking. The reality is, I am actually really scared that Norah is going to go through that teen phase all the girls I grew up with went through where they end up hating their fathers.
Although this still might happen, I’m hopeful that what Norah said is true: if I keep taking her out for ice cream, keep showing her how special she is to me, that she will always realize how much I love her, and continue to love me as much as she clearly does right now.
Ultimately, I think that’s what I want most of all as a father. My daughter’s love.
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