I've sang to each of my two daughters before bedtime since they were toddlers. Tonight my youngest who turned 13 in September, informed me that my services were no longer desired. And, although a part of me wanted to protest, I realized at the moment she let it be known that any resistance I might attempt was as futile as asking her to pause growing up.
I could have been the one to take the initiative. Maybe on her last birthday I should have explained that she was old enough now to put herself to bed. Some tears would be shed, but deep down she would have understood the logic of my reasoning. She would know that the time had come for her to take the next step in her young adulthood and leave one of the last vestiges of her childhood behind, another fond memory to recall at some future moment.
I could have. But I don't think that I ever would have. It took her to turn the tables and explain it to me. And she did it without saying a word. As I had done each night of her life we were together, tonight when I told her to get ready for bed and call me in to her room when she was ready, she looked me in the eyes with the tender gaze of the sensitive young woman she has become and subtly shook her head. I immediately knew what she meant and realized the implication on our relationship.
As a father I worry about protecting my children from the pain inherent in reaching adulthood. I need not be concerned. My daughter taught me that by trying to keep the routines of her childhood, I am preventing her from developing the maturity necessary to successfully manage her own life.
Tonight the student surpassed the master. I am slightly bruised, but very proud.
