The Last time I Open the Door...

Hey Bean, it's your Dad,

It's another day and here I am writing yet another post. You would think that after 18 years I would have a lot of things to say to you, but I'm finding that not to be true. It's not that I don't have things to say so much as in a lot of ways I feel like I already said them. When I watch you go through the day I I see a capable and independent woman. I know I had a hand in the person I see and I realize that you have watched me and listened and learned. You watched me succeed and make mistakes and you have learned from that. While I have not been one of those Dad's who gives you a weekly dose of advice, I have been one that in general tries to give you pointers once in a while. Overall I feel like I have been a pretty good Dad.

While I have been a good Dad, and I am confident in your ability to go out in the world and succeed, that doesn't mean I don't still have things to tell you. It just means reaching a bit deeper to get to the stuff I want to say but don't know if I should say. It bothers me a bit at times that I have to be careful about what I say to you. I feel this way because I just don't get why we put walls between ourselves when we are family. It's not just you and I, it's everybody in every family. There are a lot of rules on how parents are supposed to behave and how children are supposed to behave. Even as you all grow older those rules are still there. In fact, seems the older we get the more boundaries we have.

I know that there are just things about each other that neither of us can really relate to. I'm male, you are female. There are things that you really don't need to know about being a man, and there are things I can't really understand about being a woman. I also get that there are things that you just don't want to talk to anyone about. I have a lot of those things, to be honest. I have a lot of thoughts, feelings, and experiences that I don't feel comfortable with sharing. You probably have some of those same things and that's okay.

It's okay to keep secrets from me Bean. I don't have to know everything you do or everything you feel. In fact, the moment you turn 18 I have absolutely no legal control over your decisions in any way. I kind of wonder how long it's going to take for that realization to come to either of us. How long am I going to feel like I can still punish you for not doing your chores? How long before you realize you don't have to keep me apprised of what you are up to?

I'm glad I am not one of those helicopter parents because it will make this transition easier on me. I don't know if I could give you the control over your life I already have if I had been a parent who insisted on doing everything for their child.  I know why helicopter parents act the way they do, they are terrified of their children getting hurt. I understand this, but I can't quite understand how that in any way prepares the child to leave home. If you were completely dependent on me for every decision, how would you be able to go off to college? Find work? Make your own dinner?

I have watched over you. In fact, every night before I go to bed, I look in on you. I take a moment to just enjoy the fact you are in my life. I know someday that I won't be able to do it. I know someday your bedroom won't have you in it. It will stay your room for a while so it's there if you need it. You will probably show up on the occasional weekend, be there on holidays, but over time, you will move into your own place and there will be a time that is the last time I open the door and watch you sleep. I hate that day.

There is no crueler thing in the world than the knowledge that someday, I won't ever look in on my baby girl as she sleeps. There is no way to describe the way that hurts. However, it's not all pain. There is so much pride as well. There is a pride in knowing I have had a hand in raising a strong independent and capable woman. So until that last time I open your door to watch you sleep, I am going to treasure that experience as much as possible.

I love you Bean,

Dad