Home Alone IV - a Father's Lament
A pall has settled over the Shi household. Susan and I suddenly occupy an
empty nest. Our two children are now both away at college. A year ago
Jason began his freshman year in North Carolina, and this week his
younger sister Jessica moved into her dormitory room in Kentucky.
So
Susan and I are now home alone. Our friends keep assuring us that well
soon come to appreciate our new-found freedom and the opportunity to
spend more time with each other. But we are not yet ready to celebrate.
So far, living in an empty nest has little to recommend it except for
the availability of the telephone and fewer dirty dishes. We spend most
of our time consoling one another about our shared sense of loss. Even
our two dogs are moping.
It was hard enough to say goodbye to my
son last year; it is even worse dealing with a departed daughter. Of
course, I love them and miss them equally, but the idea of my
daughter being
away from home keeps me awake at night. I am convinced that the moment a
daughter is born, a father becomes a feministand a conservative. We
want them to have every possible opportunity for fulfillment, yet we
also want them protected from harm.
We also have a hard time
letting go. It is painful to realize that our daughters have grown up
and are no longer dependent upon dad. We strive to raise our children to
lead independent and virtuous lives regardless of place or
circumstance, yet down deep inside we dont want them to wander very far
from home. In fits of maturity, I know that I should share Jessicas
excitement about the wonderful opportunities and experiences awaiting
her in college. But those moments are fleeting. Most of the time, I
chastise myself for letting her grow up so quickly. Where did the time
go?
Only yesterday, it seems, I was singing "Puff the Magic
Dragon" to a giggling Jessica while changing her diaper. Soon
thereafter, I was reading
Goodnight, Moon and
Where the Wild Things Are so
often that I memorized the words. Has it really been twelve years since
I was near cardiac arrest as I held on to her first bicycle, running
alongside as she learned to ride, while her showboating brother
performed wheelies next to us?
Such vivid memories of our
effervescent little girl defeat my efforts to adjust to her maturation
and her absence. Every time I think I have resigned myself to her being
six hours away, I remember another poignant scene from her past: as a
ten-year-old doing endless cartwheels across the front yard; as a
twelve-year-old reporting frantically that she had found three orphaned
kittens in a nearby field: "Can we keep them, daddy? PLEASE!"; as a
thirteen-year-old discovering her brothers lost python wrapped around
the headboard of her bed; as a sixteen-year-old welcoming her first
"real" date, only to see him grilled mercilessly by her over-protective
father.
Earlier this summer, with Jessicas departure looming on
the horizon, I came to view each passing day with mounting dread. What
made it worse was that in July she began dating a Citadel cadet. For the
president of the Paladins, this was indeed a bitter pill. Yet there was
some consolation in knowing that he is one of our sons best friends
and a perfect gentleman. If the truth be told, we at Furman actually
have come to view The Citadel with great respect and even affection. We
now refer to the coed institution in Charleston as our
sister institution.
But
I digress. Saying goodbye to Jessica this week was awkward and
distressing. After reminding her of all the mundane details to attend to
before her classes start and urging her to call us often, we reiterated
how confident we were in her abilities and how much we loved her. Yet
in the end, I could not help stressing that her bedroom would always be
waiting.
Time will no doubt salve our sense of separation, and
Susan and I will learn to adapt to our empty nest and even relish our
own independence. For now, however, my best therapy is to watch
Father of the Bride and be thankful that I am not yet confronting the prospect of a wedding.