Raising_a_Daughter

This happened

in Colorado

more than half a century ago-

more, certainly, than half my lifetime ago-

and, just as certainly, he has been sleeping for decades

in the leaves beside the stream,

his crumble of white bones, his curl of flesh

comfortable even so

Owls and Other Fantasies, “The Dipper,” Mary Oliver

“Will you give us your blessing on my marriage to your daughter?” He asked the first
question, and I answered with two of my own.
“Will you be kind to her?” YES
“Even as your relationship changes over the years, will you be kind to her?” YES

The second crucial question was more difficult for me to answer.
“Will you officiate my wedding?” she asked.
“Don’t you want me to be ‘the father’?”
“Can’t you be both?”
So many questions. So few answers. But that is life.

So in the month of July we gathered on First Encounter Beach, Eastham, Massachusetts –
Cape Cod – for a wedding. The breeze came up across Cape Cod Bay. The summer air
cooled, the sun was muted by thin clouds, the greenhead flies retreated into the marsh, and
the Killdeer, Spotted Sandpiper, Black-headed Gull, Herring Gull, and Common Terns sang
their approval.

I practiced my words. My wife asked how it was developing. I said it was fine. I practiced my
“wedding meditation” twenty times but…always alone. But when I got to the point – “A little girl
built sand castles on this beach, and now she has come here to be married. What happened
to the time?”- it was too hard.

We speak about raising children – like by some super human effort we do something – give
them something of major significance. But the truth is they give so much more to us.

She was a Saint Patrick’s Day baby – delivered by a Jewish doctor to a Presbyterian family.
She hardly cried. And I was worried by my lack of instant infatuation. As I drove home from the
hospital I thought, “Why do I feel like I was just introduced to a stranger?” By the second
encounter, I was in love.

She was fastidious. Organized. She wanted life to be just like that as well. When I discovered
ALL her first grade papers, under her bed, in a box, in order by date, September to May – I
wondered if we shared the same gene pool.

The usual stuff: elementary school, high school, college, graduate school. I’m not sure I ever
lost a single hour of sleep – anxiety free. (Well, maybe night fevers and ear aches)

I missed her first period. She told me over the phone – long distance. I was in Mexico. I wished
I hadn’t been.

I was there for the “first” broken heart. It was the quiet sadness that struck me. But the
courage to end a relationship that could not meet her clearly assessed needs – it was a
symbol of maturity and I was proud.

I wounded my daughter by being a co-conspirator to divorce. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t
want it – there is always more than enough blame to go around. It is the worst burden one
can place on a child. But her friendship – though I’m sure it was painful – her friendship was a
lighthouse that help guide me to safer waters. I only hope she located her own pool of peace.

She is a gentle, kind woman. She’s most at home in the natural world. She loves birds. She’s
given me that too: Meadowlarks in Pennsylvania, Loons in New Hampshire, Gulls in
Massachusetts, the American Dipper on the Poudre River. She has made me aware –
ushered me into ornithology.

Yesterday I came home to find a Chukar (alectoris chukar) strutting in my yard. A member of
the partridge family, they were introduced to the United States in the 19th century as game
birds. They are the national bird of Pakistan, where they thrive in that country’s western
mountains – along with Bin Laden. How ironic. I called to tell her. I could hear the excitement
in her voice.

“What happened to all the time?”

I don’t know what I did to raise such a wonderful daughter. I remember reading Dr. Spock and
Dr. Dobson in his pre-fascist days. I remember rituals and traditions – kindness – love. I
remember mistakes – regrets – anecdotes of failure that can be recalled instantly. (the curse
of being a parent)

I never entertained the thought that I “owned” my daughter. My theology always placed her
squarely in the hands of God. I don’t remember consciously wanting my life to somehow be
lived out through her. I held out my values – my worldview – some of which she has
embraced. I honestly do not know how much I gave. I do know how much I have received.

Wayne Nickerson is a native New Englander who has found peace in the mountains and
streams of Colorado. After 34 years of campus ministry in the Presbyterian Church, USA
(Carnegie Mellon University, Westminster College (PA) and the University of Northern
Colorado - he is the pastor of the First United Presbyterian Church, Loveland Co. Wayne
lives his wife Judith Ann in Fort Collins. He is the father of Matthew Wayne Nickerson
(Baltimore) and Christy Elizabeth Nickerson-Little. (Pittsburgh)

RAISING A DAUGHTER
by Reverend Wayne Nickerson