― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
Daph and I went to see Logan last weekend.
I won't spoil much of the film, but I will say that
during its 137 minute run time there isn't one ray of sunshine. The plot
features laboratory born children who have been raised in captivity so an evil
corporation can create mutant solders. One of the mutant girls is named
Charlotte. When that program is scrapped, the children are dragged down a
hallway to be put to sleep. Later in the movie a family of three named
Munson is slaughtered. I started to take it personally at that point. When are
they going to begin shooting teachers?
Would I have liked the film better if our family
names weren't in it? No, I do not think so. I have had a really tough time
seeing children in peril since I became a dad. I am not the only one who
feels this way. I know a couple who were big fans of The Walking Dead TV
series. After they had brought their baby home from the hospital, they tried to
watch the show, but they could not even watch five minutes of it. Their few weeks of
parenting had changed them. That is one of surprising aspects about having a
child. It transforms you in ways you cannot foresee.
Sure, you get warnings from other people, but you
can't fully understand them. Years ago I excitedly mentioned to a student's dad
that we had just purchased our first home. He smiled and said, "Well,
you'll never be out of work. A house is never finished." I didn't get what
he meant back then, but I do now. Even the newest of houses is full of
projects.
The same goes with parenting for me. People told me
that my life would never be the same, but I couldn't comprehend the change that
was coming my way. Yes, I had heard the generic stories of sleepless nights and
dirty diapers, but I just nodded and smiled. "Yes, " l admitted,
"It's going to be different."
Different was an understatement.
I'm not an expert by any means. I have been a dad
for just six years, and I only have one child. But still, I had no clue how
much of an impact Charlotte was going to have on me.
I used to really like movies with bone-chilling
plot lines and violent action. I have a large collection of these movies on DVDs and Blu-rays,
but I can't watch most of them of them anymore. Like I said, seeing children in
peril pushes too many buttons. And do you know how many scary movies feature
young women being hurt? (The answer is all of them.) To quote Hall and Oats,
"I can't go for that. (No can do.)"
I now seek out movies where girls are portrayed as
strong and independent characters. When we watch these shows, I point out to
Char how these young ladies can do anything they put their minds to. Males can
be their friends, but they are not needed for success. Unless that male is
actually her dad. That guy is always important.
But it is not just movies. A baby crying in a
restaurant doesn't bother me anymore. Instead, I feel empathy and a strange
bout of nostalgia. When I see a kid having a breakdown in the grocery store, I
sagely think, somebody is hungry or tired, and I move on without judging
anyone. Char left diapers behind years ago, but I still judge a public restroom
by its changing table.
I also started to see the world through her lens. Dandelions
became flowers. Stairs became cliffs. Bathtubs became oceans. Even when
she couldn’t clearly talk, we could understand what she wanted. Here’s my favorite
video from a daddy-daughter night when Char was 18 months old. (I love her "Hi!")
I’m now less concerned with my appearance. I am not
sure when I decided that my shirt would be an effective way to wipe Charlotte’s
nose, but in emergencies, it happens. My jeans are also a great place to dry
her hands.
I am not perfect, but I have become less selfish.
Unless I’m in the car alone, the dashboard vents are never pointed at me. I
never take the last cookie, and often the second to last cookie is stolen from
me. My biggest concern was having a man cave to hide in when we were shopping
for our first house. This time around all I cared about was the school district
and the safety of the neighborhood.
Parenting also forces you to reconsider your own
parents and what they have done for you. You cannot appreciate the job they did
until you try to do it yourself. Heaven knows I didn't always get along with my
dad, but I think I now understand him a bit better.
Although Dad passed away nine years ago, my relationship with him is still
evolving.
Parenting has allowed me to join a community with a
universal understanding. When I’m outside of Char’s school waiting to pick her
up, I can turn to any other parent and say, “I never know which kid is going to
come through that door. A crying one, a happy one, a mad one…” They will smile
in agreement and add, “Or one who forgot their coat or backpack…” and then a
third parent will chime in, “Once my kid came out without her shoes!” Then all
three of us will laugh. As Homer Simpson says, “It’s funny because it’s true!’
There is a universal nonverbal language as well. I
can cross paths with a guy who is quickly carrying his wailing tantrum out of
the book store, and I can give him a look that says, “Dude, I feel your pain.” His
eyes will flash a “Thanks, man. I appreciate that.” And he will disappear into
the parking lot.
The most powerful change is the random surge
of emotion I feel when I see my daughter do something. I cannot predict when it
will happen. She can be climbing out of the car, running across the back yard,
or singing to herself in the bathroom. I can only inadequately describe it as a
warmth that emanates from your chest while it tightens your heart. It is a mix
of pride, love, hope, wonder, luck, and appreciation that I hadn’t experienced
before and wouldn’t trade for anything. As Rob says in High Fidelity, "... it just kills me."
Would I have liked the movie Logan seven
years ago – back before Charlotte was born? That is a hard question to answer.
So much is different since then; I hardly remember that guy.
I do not envy him.
