Twenty years ago, at this very moment, I was a nervous 23 year-old, sweating bullets. My life was about to change forever and I had no idea what it would mean.
I had been to war. I had moved form Philadelphia, to West Columbia, South Carolina, then on to Texas. I'd been to Saudi Arabia and Spain. I'd been engaged once, married once -- to different women. I'd suffered the loss of a parent, delighted in the love of a woman. Still, nothing prepared me for what was going to happen.
I'll be honest, I prayed daily for your demise in the initial weeks of the pregnancy. I mean, your mother and I had decided pretty early on that abortion was absolutely off the table. Adoption, in the eyes of our selfish youth was also not an option. "We couldn't handle knowing our kid was out there...". So that left keeping you. Still, if God wanted to go another route, I was cool with it.
These were clearly the freaked-out thoughts of a guy WAY too young to be doing this and I never actively prayed for harm to come to you. I just left God the option.
He demured.
I thank Him.
Right about now, we were two hours from meeting you. We didn't even know if you were a boy or girl. I've told you the story of how I had recorded two greetings on our answering machine, then turned it off. After you were born, people would either hear the opening notes of Gloria Estefan's "Bad Boy", then me proclaiming, "It's a Truman!" or, as it turned out, Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl", with my announcement that, "It's a Chelsea!".
It was a long day. Your mother didn't sleep much the night before and, as a result, neither did I. Then I had to be at work at 5:45am. Being young and broke, and not knowing when you would be coming, taking the day off was not something I could do. Since there had been an incident at work the week before, involving an employee's family throwing down in the break room, resulting in a ban from them entering the building, I left your poor mom out in the car, in what turned out to be the early stages of labor.
About 11:00 than morning, she said it was time. I left work and we went to the hospital. They sent us home. By 5:00 we were back and it was go time.
I never understood just how much I could love another human being until I saw your little head pop out, then the shoulders, then -- BAM! (It makes total sense but I didn't expect that after the shoulders, you'd just fly out of there.) The doctor held you up -- leg, leg, chord, penis -- wooHOO! It's a bo...(took another look -- wait, where did it go?!?!)...girl. It's a girl.
The doctor asked if I wanted to cut the rope and I said "hell no!". They cleaned you up and I was pretty cool. Then I went into the hallway to tell everyone and just lost it. I was so overcome with emotion -- with pure, absolute joy. When I think of that night, twenty years ago, I still get that feeling. I still feel so joyful that you were brought into my life.
I hope I have served you well these two decades. I hope I was at least half the father mine was to me, though I cant imagine I was.
Giving justice through word to everything, "from the high to the low to the end of the show", in these twenty years would take words I simply do not possess.
We've had those highs: The night you were born; your first step; your first word: Tiger; watching DVDs in bed and playing with Pablo the Cat; Isabella being born.
We've had the lows: My move to South Carolina then California; the teen years; my cancer.
Though all of that. the one thing that has remained consistent is that I love you more than I could ever love another person. The big days, the vacations and created memories were all great. What was always more important to me though was the everyday stuff. Perhaps because I was a single parent sharing custody, making dinner and watching tv with you and tucking you in, getting you up and ready for school the next day -- those were the important things. The things that mattered. Because that's where the relationship happens.
You are the best thing that ever happened to me and regardless of what you do or where you go, I will always be proud and thankful to call you my daughter. Nothing will ever change that.
The only two things I ever ask in return -- as I have your entire life -- are:
Remember who you are.
And always -- ALWAYS,
Keep the Faith.
I love you Chelsea.
-Dad
