Dad’s strange love making – 01

Charlotte turned to walk through the airport doors. Standing in the ticket line, she looked back. Liam was holding their daughter on his shoulder. They both waved when they saw her looking. She waved at the two of them, before turning and shuffling forward in the line. When she reached the front, she looked back and they were still watching. She gave them a last wave, and stepped up to the counter.

* * *

Holiday traveling was the pits. She’d arrived more than an hour early, and now her flight was delayed forty minutes. She picked up her phone, and texted him.

Forty minute delay – Sorry.

The response was almost immediate.

I hate every minute lost, but would wait forever.

She smiled. The man was full of shit, but he had a way with words. She felt the rush of excitement once again.

Soon. I can hardly wait.

An anxious few seconds, she waited eagerly for his response, getting that hot feeling. Enough words, pictures, skyping. It was time. Obviously he agreed.

I can’t believe the wait is nearly over. The things I’m going to do to you…

She heard the announcement from overhead. They were changing her gate, damn it!

Gotta go. Gate change. Text when I arrive.

She closed the phone, grabbed her bags and got up with a sigh, moving six gates down before settling in for what looked to be an hour-long wait.

She put her purse on the chair next to her, hoping to hold off any business Romeos who thought an empty chair beside a single woman was an invitation. She wasn’t dressed particularly sexy, she didn’t want to advertise what she was up to, but she knew she looked nice. For him.

Her glance noted the envelope from her father. That was a strange comment from Liam, about her father knowing about her travel. She hadn’t told anyone. She didn’t dare, not even Sofia, who would have given her more grief she didn’t need. She pulled out the letter and found it was sealed. She tore open the end, and pulled out the sheets full of his handwriting. She could tell he’d spent time on it, half the time his chicken scratch was illegible, but not now.

Dearest Charlotte,

I want to tell you about a father’s love.

You know, you have to know, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me and your mother. You made our lives complete, and have never been anything but a source of joy.

Not that you weren’t ever a source of trouble. Heck, we knew that before you were even born. The heartburn you gave your mother nearly drove me insane. And those cravings of hers, Chinese food, three or four days a week. Week in, week out. Always the same dish, the same place. Is it any wonder white rice was about all we could get you to eat for years?

From the moment I first held you in the delivery room, you changed my life, for the better. I held you, and knew that you were my responsibility from that moment on. I brought you into this world, and it can be a tough and challenging one. I told myself at that time that I’d always be there for you. Your anchor in the tempestuous sea that is life.

You were a colicky baby. Drive me and your Mom nuts. Every night, for about four months, your cries would wake us up. You know how your mother was about getting her sleep, so I handled it. Night after night I’d hold you, pressed to my chest. After a few minutes of walking the floor you’d quiet. Unless I put you down of course. I learned quickly. I’d walk you until the crying ended, then hold you in that old rocking chair. The one in my bedroom now. Now you know why I said I’d never get rid of it.

I’d hold you and rock you. I’d sing to you. I know, you were too young to be punished like that, and I’ll be damned if I’d sing for anybody else, but I’d sing for you. I’d sing, and you’d sleep. All night long I’d hold you, gazing on your precious face, memorizing every line, every hair. Your mother gave me hell a few times for napping with you in my arms.

She was scared that I might drop you, in my sleep. Groundless fears, I knew better. Nothing short of Armageddon would make me drop you. Asleep or not, you were mine, and nothing would hurt you so long as I could take a breath, certainly not me.

Your mother would take over around six in the morning, and I’d crawl off to bed for a couple of hours of sleep before work. I lost a lot of sleep over you those first six months. I don’t begrudge you a single minute. That time holding you is among my favorite memories. Your mother believes it was those early months that connected us. Creating an unbreakable bond.

I know we share a lot of memories, and you’ve heard a lot of stories, but those early years were so precious I can’t help myself. You were too young to remember them, but I can play them back on demand, and do so often.

Saturdays were wonderful. Your mother worked Saturdays the first four years of your life. Saturdays were for us. You were all mine. Once you were old enough to let me know what you wanted, in no uncertain terms I might add, we’d get our morning Slurpee at 7-11, stop in at Mom’s work just so you two could see each other, and then we’d drive.

You were so smart, so curious about everything. We’d take long drives and you’d pepper me with questions. When you’d run out, I’d tell you stories. I’d look at you, perched in your car seat, staring at the world around you, and reflect on how lucky a man I was.

I remember the first time you insisted that you drive. I held you in my lap, your tiny hands on the steering wheel. We’d crawl along, your hands turning the wheel, my fingers secretly at the bottom because you got so mad if you couldn’t do it on your own. I only had to nudge it now and then. Your mother got so angry, but once we did it as a family, she understood. Even then you were undeniable.

I think it was third grade, when you asked me about a book, and I hadn’t read it. You seemed shocked, like I had failed you, because I didn’t know every book ever written. From that time forward, every book you had to read for school, I’d pull out of your book-bag the first night you brought it home. I’d take it to my study, once you and your mother were asleep and read it cover-to-cover. Just so I could answer any question you had.

I’d never let you down again. At first it only took a few minutes, but by high-school it might take hours. I started reading all your books as soon as they entered the house. You got irritated that I’d read it before you, and the next thing I knew, you’d be reading it front to back the first night you had it.

Of course by the next day, I’d had my chance, and we could discuss it. Did you really think I read all those books for fun? I read them so I could share them with you. Because I loved you. Trust me on this one, that took a hell of a lot of love.

I don’t want to think about how many hundreds of hours I spent listening to music that sometimes made me want to drive pencils into my eardrums. If it was a band you mentioned, or something you sang along to on the radio, I’d sit at my computer late at night, and look them up.

I’d listen to their music, comparing them to the music I loved and look for the similarities. I’d introduce you to my own music, and we could talk. I had a need to understand you, and I wanted that bridge between us. I still think you owe me an apology for the Backstreet Boys / Hanson years.

As you grew older, you still turned to me, all the way through middle-school. I didn’t know what I was doing, or course. I was a first time father. I was winging it, but I swear to you, I did my best. I hope you believe that.

I know at times my involvement in your activities probably irked you. Assistant coach on your volleyball team, team leader for your Destination Imagination activities, chaperon for your weekend volunteer outings. I’m sorry about that. My only excuse is I wanted to be there if you needed me.

I was living with a timer. I knew I was losing you little by little. Your friends, your schooling, your activities were drawing you away. College was looming ever closer. It was selfish on my part, but I wanted as many moments with you as possible, before you moved on.

You were the best daughter in the world. So beautiful, so smart, such a kind and loving child. You’re like your mother in so many ways. I’m sorry you got so many of my physical features. If I had a dime for every person who said you looked just like me, I’d be a wealthy man. I don’t see it, to be honest. You’re so beautiful, and I’m anything but.

High school was difficult, I confess. It’s when your mother’s and my ideas of raising you conflicted most. We both know she was over-protective, and I was too lenient. She wanted to know where you were every minute of every day, what you were doing, who your friends were, what they were teaching you in school. She hated for you to spend the night away. She was scared to death at the idea of you driving. A single drop of rain was cause for panic if you were on the road.

I took the opposite tact, and I know it drove her crazy. I trusted you. I believed we did the right thing raising you, and I expected you to make the right decisions. I told you that you could do anything you put your mind to, and I believed it with every fabric of my being. My daughter could do anything!

You flourished, but not without some hiccups on the way. Some painful ones admittedly. Bad choices with friends a few times. I won’t remind you of the two times I stood beside you in municipal court. I was appalled and the second time very angry. But I stood beside you. You learned from your mistakes, and I was proud.

The friends were a different problem. I know you hated me there for a while, your freshman year. It broke my heart, but I did it for you. Taking you out of public school, away from your issues and putting you into private school was hard, in many ways. Fourteen grand a year was a lot of money for us, but your future was infinitely more valuable.

I accepted your condemnation, and the rift it caused between us, in order to get your life back on track. I drove you twelve miles to school and back, and though you barely spoke to me for two months, I still treasure those moments spent alone with you. Driving in the car together, like those first four years.