#276

I can still tuck Megan in, lay beside her, say nighttime prayers, then hold her hand and wait for it to slacken and for her breathing to even out in peaceful sleep. Then I slowly turn, slide, roll, lift, grimace, and attempt to free myself from the bed without any massive squeaks or groans from the box springs and bed frame. I always fail. I am too big. Megan stirs and whispers, "Goodnight, Daddy," and this ritual is one of the most favorite of my life. It will end soon for Meg and me, but I hold out sweet hope that I can repeat it with a granddaughter someday.

"There's strength in needing others, not weakness." From the movie "Burnt," which I saw on my way to Beijing (without 14 hour flights, I'm afraid movies about chefs go unwatched). On some deep level I know it's true - we are stronger expressing, embracing, living this need - but the grind in corporate America convinces me otherwise, as does divorce, joint-custody, and other things that scream vulnerability and exposure. But I'm grateful for friends and family. And I know I need them.

Being a dad has made me a better son. Only speaking for myself, of course, but a reverse look through the father/son lens was like a bullhorn. A different, and complete, emotional - and material - picture bloomed. It's like reading a putt from the place you'll strike it, naturally, but then walking to the other side of the green and reading from behind the cup, and all the slopes and bends in between that threaten your birdie. I still miss the putt, but for a glorious moment I look wise and skillful.