We were standing in the front yard where, for the past two hours, I had been mowing three and a half acres of ankle-high grass with a push mower in blistering sun. I wasn't wearing a shirt or socks . . . and if memory serves, I may not have been wearing shorts either. And from the looks of me, I'd forgotten to apply sun screen. I was that stunned.
We sat down at the picnic table to talk. I put my knees together. "You have to understand," I began, "she's just a child. A woman, yes. But it seems like only yesterday when I watched her bulbous head pop out of the womb. Not mine . . . but my wife's, I believe."
I had to gather my thoughts. I had counseled hundreds of people over the years--crumbling marriages, stymied parents, men who had been run over by berserk lawnmowers--and yet I was at a loss for words. "I guess since she's old enough to vote, she can make her own decision," I said eventually. "Sure, I give you my blessing."
I did. I do. I like my future son-in-law. He's a good egg. Michael is a good man.
But a father can't help but feel blind-sided by discussions about his daughter's impending wedding. A father, after all, knows too much. He's been to the circus and he's seen the show. He knows how messed up marriage can be, and how difficult it is, and that it would work a whole lot better if his wife would just take his advice once in a while. He also wishes his wife would have been by his side for THE CONVERSATION. She could have handed him a pair of shorts, or at least a moist towelette.
But my wife was in New Orleans at the time of THE CONVERSATION and I had to dress myself later after a long, cold shower. I was in a stupor. And I may have wept. This was a secret I had sworn to keep until my future son-in-law could pop the question.
I didn't tell a soul. In fact, I forgot about it and only brought it up days later, when my wife and I were driving home from the Indianapolis airport. "Guess what?" I said.
"Chelsey's getting married," my wife blurted.
"How did you know?"
"Felt it in my bones," she said. "Mother's intuition."
What is it with these women? And what the heck is intuition?
The only guiding force men have is guilt. But since I'm not guilty of anything except loving my wife and daughter better than corn hash, I'm walking blind through life. One of these days I'm going to screw up so I can find my center again. I'll become a man. I'll grow balls and will be able, at last, to say NO!
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