Dad… Can I… ?

Late in my pregnancy my parents came to visit for an evening.  The four of us were sitting in the living room talking about baby proofing and all the potential things in our house that would cause bumps, tears and bruises.  And, even though he swore the fetus was a girl, Craig made the comment that “a few bumps wouldn’t hurt him.”

“What if it’s a girl?” my mom countered. 

“Well, then I’ll put her in a bubble.”

Ahh… fathers and daughters. 

Similarly, I’ve heard a story many times about my grandmother asking my dad how he would feel the first time he had to spank me. 

“I won’t have to discipline her,” he said innocently . 

Ah… about that? 

My dad told me no a lot.  Actually, not as many times as I asked to do something.  Because, you see, once he said it once.  He didn’t say it again.  I would spend hours, (okay, minutes) crafting my pitch.  Making sure to get all the convincing arguments out in the first few breaths.  “Dad, can I…  Kim and Amanda are….  Mom said it’s OK with her… I’ll be home by… “  And he would say, “No.” 

Sometimes followed by a reason.  “You were out all week.  You can stay home tonight.”

But I was not done, I was prepared to move on with my secondary arguments.  “But.  I already helped clean the house.  The other times I was out I was with different people.  I haven’t been out with Kim ALL WEEK.”  

He’d pick up his newspaper or start flipping channels.  Which, clearly I took as a sign that I should continue. 

“Come on.  If I can go, I promise I’ll…. I have to work tomorrow, so this is the only night I can…  I babysat while you and Mom went out four.years.ago and I didn’t ask you to pay me.” 

Yep, I pulled out all the stops. 

He would continue to read or watch TV occasionally looking at me.  Inevitably, it would end with me storming up the steps, (stomping like an elephant if you believe my mom’s exaggerations) crying, throwing myself on the bed and yelling, “I”m NEVER allowed to do ANYTHING.” 

I had a flair for the dramatic even then it seems. 

And, while he did tell me no, what seemed like quite a bit.  He also spent hours with me in the driveway teaching me to pitch and to catch. He taught me to drive, even giving lessons when the roads were just a bit snow covered so I would know how to drive in poor conditions (although I don’t think either of us anticipated me moving to a place where “poor conditions” are the norm from December until April.)  He was at every volleyball game I played. 

Since graduating high school, I don’t think he’s ever told me no.  He moved me from apartment to apartment to back home to a few more apartments and finally to our house. He has supported my many fundraisers and work events, sitting on the sidelines of all-star football games, going to dances, bidding in silent auctions and walking in 5Ks.  He’s helped my husband put in fence, put together furniture and lift heavy items.  He loves my daughter and lights up when she’s in the room. 

Will the day come that the Craig has to tell his baby girl no?  Absolutely.  Will she cry and pout?  You betcha.  15 years later will she understand why he said no? Maybe. 

But will she appreciate all the things he did instead.  I guarantee it.

As a side note, the folks at Top Baby Blogs are about to reset the votes, putting us all back at zero.  I sort of liked being amongst some really good bloggers.  So, if you like what you read here, think I’m a little funny and slightly witty or adore my child’s smile, would you do me a favor and click this link…  XOXO!