Thursday, March 30, 2017

All the Changes You Put Me Through

“When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”
― 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.

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