Happy 21st Birthday, Baby Girl
My daughter Caity is 21 years old this week. It is a bittersweet birthday because my baby girl is not my baby girl anymore. I am so proud of the young woman she has become but as she grew up, I regretted not being able to pick her up, wipe her tears and make the “small hurts” go away.
Caity came into my life when she was a little over one and half years old. I started dating her mother after my sister’s wedding. We were married a year later.
Caity and me attending the Liverpool friendly with AC Milan in St. Louis during July 2016 (Author’s Collection)
Caity’s dad and I built a solid relationship over the years. I never wanted to take his place. I just wanted Caity to have as normal a life as possible.
I never refer to her as anything but my daughter. Tam and I have two sons. God gave me the daughter I always wanted.
Caity in her TKD uniform at 6 years of age
When I think back on the years, I am reminded of the funny things she used to say. When she was two or three years old and I was aggravated about something she did, she would say, “Chill out, Daddy-O!” One time she got angry with me and told me, “Don’t you never, ever, ever, never, never, ever talk to me again.”
I mostly remember sharing a love of history. She was the only one of my kids I did not have to bribe to go with me to the History Museum. She also liked old movies but could not get into The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920). “It’s just weird, Dad.”
As she grew up, the “small hurts” became “big hurts” I could not so easily brush away. As a parent, it is harder to watch your children struggle than you struggling yourself.
She also eventually started dating. I always said I would be nice to the ones I could not stand and mean to the ones I liked. I never quite got around to being nice to the ones I did not like. I was just generally mean to all of them.
On Caity’s special day, I look forward to years with my grandchildren. When I look down on them and see my daughter’s eyes, it will remind me of the days the curly-haired little girl walked around in her mother’s shoes, put on her plays on her grandparent’s hearth, and made her cute little sayings, which got her out of trouble more often than not.
Caity was not a perfect child. God knows I was not a perfect parent. But she was the perfect daughter for me. I love you, baby girl. And I am proud of you. Love, Dad.