Remembering Conversations with My Daughter

As a full-time working single parent, I have to follow a set, routine schedule on a daily basis. Rarely is there a free moment to indulge in nothing. But I certainly won't express any regrets for much of my life is consumed with a rewarding purpose of being a father.

The excitement usually begins as soon as my daughter comes home from school. As she steps off the bus, she runs up the hill with the widest, most beautiful smile, you know, the priceless kind a loving father loves to receive from his child. But I can never tell if it's a smile of relief that school for the day is over and she's finally home or one of joy because she notices her father waving at the top of the hill. Perhaps it's both. Despite my asking, she always seems to say the right words that make me giddy. When she reaches the top of the hill, I hug her tightly as if I haven't seen her in ages.

Then it's an excitingly long moment of intriguing conversations. There is always something significant that comes out of my conversations with my daughter. Listening to her tell me stories about her day is like trying to follow several movies on at least 10 screens at once. But it's exhilarating, and I can only hope I am not missing one single beat of her melodic voice. She talks about her best friend, Stacy, or what the hyper boy on the bus did, or how she managed to execute several cartwheels perfectly in physical education class. She talks about her teacher commending her for her recent artwork or improved math skills. Hearing that, particularly, is always a father's moment of glory. And we can't forget her on-again, off-again relationship with her clique-producing, friend-hogging, and emotionally-driven pal, Darlene. Any conversation involving that name requires a little more attention and fatherly advice.

All the while I am thinking about which snack to give her. Is it fruit today? Maybe we could share a cup of yogurt. Or perhaps we should take in a light sandwich. Regardless, we can't eat too much or else it will ruin dinner. But snack time is fun. Sometimes a father can let loose and allow his child to play with her food. Just today we sliced an apple and took turns tossing pieces into each other's mouths.

We clean up, and as much as I want to let her dive right into her self-made "toy land" in our basement or play outside with her friends, she must first do her homework. Depending on the complexity of her assignments, this period of the day can last anywhere between one to two hours. It's a rather quiet moment, and we speak only when she needs some assistance. I then check her work, inform her of any mistakes, which, thank goodness, are rare, and teach and remind her of ways to help her remember for her next assignment.

Then it's time for fun, and today's activities were unique. We began dissecting an unfamiliar object we pulled out of a bush near the front porch earlier. It turned out to be a piece of an abandoned bee hive that may have fallen from the gutter near our rooftop. I suppose we couldn't recognize it because it had been weathered or perhaps persistently gnawed by insects or small animals. My daughter and I immediately suggested its shape resembled that of a bottlenose dolphin, which compelled us to discuss in length these intelligent wonders of the ocean.

As our stomachs begin to growl, we head to the kitchen to prepare for dinner. Before our sitter left for the day, she made curry, a dish my daughter recently discovered and enjoys greatly. Despite its spicy characteristics, she always asks for seconds.

At last it's bath time, a short play session, a story or two, and one last question before she falls asleep. "Can we go see bottlenose dolphins on Saturday, daddy?" And that is the one intriguing topic I shall remember for today.