13 years ago today, I had just had 24 hours of being a father for the second time. I had become the father of a daughter. The father of a daughter is not the father of a son. Despite what the feminists might tell us, there is still a void of difference between the two. If I listen to the ambient discourse, I have to treat my children the same in the way in the name of sacrosanct equality. This is complete codswallop because, being an only child and becoming the father of two children, I did not know what to do. I thought, well, not that bad back in the day, but little did I know that this was even more codswallop than the concept of equality.
I didn’t realise that I had to deal with two completely different people and although one was still a very tiny person, this young lady would teach me how different it can be. Did I suddenly become overprotective of her? Damned right I did. And still am. And she knows it. So does my son… Ooops a daisy!
Like any man and woman, they are complementary. The same but different, and reflections on my parenting and on my spouse’s parenting. I like them both despite their many qualities and failings. Puberty was easier to deal with when my son was going through it, but my daughter was different. I don’t know if it’s because she’s a girl or just another person. I know that this too will pass, even for her as it has for my son. But with a daughter entering puberty at 100 mph and a wife going through menopause, it’s nice having my son around as some testosterone backup. Before he came back home, there was far too much oestrogen in my house. Things can be a “little intense” at the moment.
As Padre Pio said, and whose feast day it is today, Pray, Hope, and don’t Worry. He lived in a friary and not in my house. He might have said something different had it been the case. Or maybe not. God is great, after all.
So as in the last post I’m just going to let these photographs just speak for themselves. It was the same set up. My daughter instead of my wife. She had been promised a film on Netflix if she posed for me. A fair exchange in my view!
I have a daughter. Those of you who have followed this blog for a while will have seen pictures of her. She is a thousand things to me, and more. A muse, an inspiration, a little mother, my child, a force of nature, an enigma, a reminder of her mother, a little person turning into a young lady.
I think, like most ten year olds, she puts up with me but allows me to take her photo, but I didn’t expect these two photos. They sum her up quite well. She has that look that can kill at a thousand paces. She has that look that says, that’s enough! Stop please. But she’s not just a killer.
When you were born, I was going through depression. I was still doing shift work. My constant companion was Insomnia, and was leaving me in a dreadful state. I wasn’t much of a father during that first year. I had moments of lucidity and of course loved you deeply. You changed my view on women. I’m not saying I was a Trump who wants to grab small cats or anything, but I think the moment you become the father of a daughter you change your perspective so quickly. I mean I’ve always tried to give my son a good example to follow, and to teach him that just because a person can’t write their name in the snow without their hands, it makes them no less of a person and must be respected as such. Any woman must be treated as a lady, even if she is not one. We have a duty to protect women. It might a little old school of me and possibly even patriarchal, but that’s the way I roll.
You reminded me what the word tenderness meant. At the time Killian was 11 and I felt that I had to harden him up to affront this world, where not everything is rosy, and I had forgotten. Any small child has the ability to melt your heart, especially when they belong to you. I remembrer laying next to you when you were on your play mat, and looking at you in wonderment. I remember you being a toddler and always trying to give me your bottle and make me drink. Obviously afraid that I wasn’t eating enough. I remember making biscuits with you and seeing your little face light up when you would eat the still warm biscuits with milk. I remember you coming in to see me when I was hiding in my room, hiding from the world when I couldn’t affront it. Depression is a bitch. You would give me the best cuddles ever and reminded me how much you needed your Papa d’amour chéri.
You always were a strong willed child, and this has not changed. You love spending time with me and having days out in Nantes, or elsewhere. We get in the car and you tell me exactly where I am to drive. Everything is planned in your mind ahead of time. Now and again I am allowed to bring my camera, but as soon as I get the look I know it’s time.
The look!
At the end of the day you allow me to go to the pub. I’m allowed to have a pint of Guinness, and you have a coke and a packet of crisps.
Despite being a force of nature my protective nature has surfaced. I want to defend you against all agression, especially as you become a teenager. Luckily you are the little sister of a big brother and knows how to fight. But every time you get hurt, my whole being hurts. Thank heavens there are no “boys” yet. You dare to be different and already are learning to pay the price at school. I worry about the Collège years. That awkward age… I know you will come out of it on the other side, and that any suffering will form you, and help you to become the woman you are destined to be.
I hear tales of women being cat called in the street, and being harassed. I have known victims of rape. I have known women who have been given grief for wearing the “wrong clothes” and “asking for it!” What kind of world do we live in? To all men out there, remember to act as gentlemen. Try and be more than an animal. A woman in the street is somebody’s daughter, sister, mother, and has as much a right to dignity as you do!
Kate, you have been my daughter for ten and a half years, and I have grown as a person. You have taught me to be gentle again. You have taught me to love. You have given me a reason to keep going despite the hard days.
IJM Photography 