Eternal Happiness

A phonecall last night from my ex-wife, Hi R, would you mind looking after our daughter for a couple of days. Her voice continuing, about to give explanation, where she’s going, why she needs me to step in. Interrupting her, fine, no explanation needed, you’re already carrying nearly all the weight, it’s the least I can do. Thinking, if she gives me the reasons it’s as if I have to assess whether they’re good enough.

Thanks, R, that’s great. Be careful with our little treasure though, she’s hitting teenage years with a bang, I’ve already had to say no to plans for midnight sleepovers and body piercing and tattoos, it’d help if you and I have a united front. Sure, of course, I feel the same way, it’s good she has a strong and wise mother. Well, R, it would be if she did, not sure I’ll be able to stay strong against the onslaught in the years ahead.

Now, making tea in the kitchen, my daughter sitting opposite, head down, texting something into her phone. Her forehead wrinkled in concentration. A couple of spots showing on her chin. The tea placed before her, ignored. Finishing the text message. Looking at me cursorily. Twisting an earpiece in one ear, sounds of music zissing out.

Recognizing the tune, some girl band singing something about a boy and the love he inspires. My daughter tapping the beat with her foot. Dreams of boys and love and everlasting happiness swirling around in her hormone jangled mind, sweeping away any chance of sensible chats with boring fathers.

Oh well, so it goes. This stuff will saturate her thinking for years, pouring her mind into the same tired cast. Dreams of an ideal mate, finding one, the remaining future relegated to a postscript. Hey, little daughter, that remaining future relegated to a postscript, the bit that starts after age twenty, if you’re like your father you’ll discover that there’s where the interesting stuff begins, starting first with having to discard all the guff about eternal happiness you so uncritically imbibed starting age twelve.

Still, looking at her now, playing with the spots on her chin, reading some new text message, occasionally scowling at me, it’s her life, nothing a father can do, she has her own future, complete with freedom to make mistakes, same as the rest of us.