My daughter, Violet, is only three, and so the reality is that her mom and I don't have to be too concerned about where she's going on prom night just yet. But still. On Friday evenings, whenever a muscle car roars down the street out front of our house: there I am, practicing my technique/honing my skills as I peer out from behind the curtain, getting ready for the day when the car is parked at our curb, and there's a teenage kid wandering up our to our door with a carnation for my girl.
(Yeah, a carnation. He shows up without one and he's going to have to buy one from me, from the ones I went out and bought at the florist that very afternoon, right there on the spot!)
Like a lot of dads, I am already beginning to wonder what life is going to be like when my little girl hits the Wonder Years of middle school and beyond. Knowing that it's probably tougher now to be a kid than when I was young, I find myself pondering the question of if I will be ready, and more importantly, if I will be able to help her when she needs me most
These days, Violet is talking to Goofy up on the TV screen, hitting potty training sessions, and insisting on chicken nuggets that are shaped like Stegosauruses. And these days, the only "boyfriend" she "loves more than anyone in the world" is still me, her daddy. So, I'm also aware that maybe there is a huge wad of jealousy tucked up under my genuine fears here, huh?
Maybe I am just as scared of losing her as I am of someone else hurting her feelings?
Still, the day that scares me the most is coming. I know it is. It comes for every dad, for every parent, no matter who you are, One day, your child shows up at home after school and there are tears and snots and sad gurgling sounds and you just know by instinct that a broken heart has hitched a ride home too.
And so then what?
Then what do I say?
You can't just tell a 12 year old that everything will be alright now can you? I mean, of course things will get better in time, but people with broken hearts don't want to hear that, do they? Even kids need something better, I think, but what?
I've been there before when adult friends were all caught up in fresh heartache; I know a thing or two about how to talk to them. But with young people it's different, it has to be. I wont be able to help my daughter like I would try and help a buddy, you know? I can't just show up out in my daughter's garage (she doesn't have one!) with a six-pack (my daughter isn't allowed to drink until she is 55) and a pizza (okay, this I can make happen. I can bring a pizza, I guess).
There has to be some tenderness, it would seem to me. There has to be some patience, too. And a lot of listening.
I'm going to need to be able to walk into her room while she's laying there blubbering all over her Justin Bieber comforter and I'm going to need to touch her head gently, and I'm going to need her to already understand that even though her pop can't wash all her blues away, she is going to have to let me try.
Because otherwise I might keel over right there on top of Justin Bieber. And that isn't gonna help anyone, now is it?
Help me out here if you can, because I'm ruining my Friday nights just peering out from the blinds every time the neighbor kid's El Camino roars by.
What are your thoughts? Have you been there when you're kid first experienced heartbreak?
How did you help?.
Serge Bielanko is a Shine Parenting Guru. He can also be found writing about life and fatherhood at Babble.com and at his own blog, Thunder Pie.
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