Windows and wheels

Why did I have to see that when I peered out from my in-laws’ patio on Christmas morning? It could have been anything else — a rambunctious squirrel, a trespassing dog, or low-flying vultures. Instead, I saw a teenage girl run across my in-laws’ backyard to the rear window of the neighboring house. She paused at the window and looked toward the street. She blew two kisses to, I’m guessing, the friend who dropped her off. Then she carefully lifted the window from the outside, crawled into her house, and closed the window and blinds behind her.

As a parent, I had trouble processing what I had just witnessed. If my daughter was sneaking out of the house for who-knows-what-kind of get together, I’d want to know about it. I’d certainly rather deal with it now than nine months later when there could be additional issues. However, I didn’t know the people, and wouldn’t want to cause trouble between my in-laws and their new neighbors. I decided to mind my own business; yet, I couldn’t get it out of my head.

About an hour later, I was helping my 8-year-old daughter, Jessie, with her new purple dress. As I buttoned it up in the back and tied the bow around her waist, I flashed back to the teenage girl I had seen earlier that morning. It feels like I was just changing Jessie’s diaper. Now she’s wearing size 10 dresses and stands as tall as her mother’s chin.

I felt it was time for a talk. No, not “the talk” as her mother, Mattie, will cover that one. This one I could handle. I told Jessie that she must never sneak out of the house. Her response didn’t put me completely at ease, though I accepted it. She said, “I’ll check with Momma.” Maybe she knows that Dad will say “no” more quickly when it comes to dating decisions.

Later on Christmas Day, Jessie opened a special gift — a pair of roller skates. The next day we went to the park to break them in. Mattie was on one side holding her hand while I was a steady force on the other side. Even though Jessie had on her helmet and elbow and knee pads, it was still stressful for me. We went back to the park to practice again the following two days. Jessie improved dramatically each day. On the third day, Mattie just watched while I held my daughter’s hand. Then Jessie said it. “Daddy, you need to let go.”

Reluctantly, I released her hand but remained within catching distance behind her. Mattie’s brother, who was with us, laughed at me as I zoomed in ready for the catch each time Jessie flailed her arms. His laughter didn’t bother me, though, because I was right where I needed to be.

Later, I again thought about the teenage girl in the window, knowing that Jessie’s teenage years aren’t that far away. I realize that more “letting go” times are ahead. I also know it’s not possible to catch all the falls. I’m hoping that because I’ve stood beside Jessie when she learns to skate, and for many of the other important times of her childhood, that I’ll never have to stand guard outside her bedroom window.

I’ve concluded that parenting requires seeing your child through a series of wheels — stroller, wagon, tricycle, training, bicycle, scooter, and now roller skate wheels. I’m going to enjoy the pink skate wheels stage to the fullest. Something tells me that seeing Jessie behind the wheel of a car will be much harder. When that time comes, I’ll be beside her in the front seat. Then it will be time for Daddy to let go again, and Mattie and I will find ourselves peering out the window, waiting for her safe return home.

Patrick Hempfing had a 20-year professional career in banking, accounting, and auditing before he became a father at age 44. He is now a full-time husband, stay-at-home dad, and writer. Follow him at www.faceb‌ook.com/‌patri‌cklhe‌mpfin‌g and on Twitter @PatrickHempfing.