of fathers and daughters
I guess it’s safe to say that I’m obsessing over my daughter’s upcoming wedding. Far from micromanaging the decision-making process, I’m pretty much on the sidelines—just me and my stress—perplexed that my wisdom and clairvoyance are being scorned in favor of blind exhuberance. Like my daughter and her fiance, my first wife and I were in our twenties when we married. Between us, we didn’t even have spare change of a clue. Ultimately our relationship ran out of gas, leaving our five children broken and bewildered. I suspect my daughter is striving for some measure of redemption. For her sake I hope she succeeds.
My main responsibility for the wedding ceremony, aside from mournfully walking my daughter down the aisle, is writing a poem for the occasion and reading it in front of what promise to be politely impatient guests. I wrote paper clip during my single days and performed it at two weddings, including my own. It’s a little too carefree to capture the weighty thoughts of an overwrought father. My words must be insightful and amusing—not intense, but effervescent—eloquence, affection and cleverness topped with a pretty pink bow. I’m reasonably certain that I’ve never written a poem like that.
Interestingly, I was specifically asked not to write a haiku.
I guess it’s safe to say that I’m obsessing over my daughter’s upcoming wedding. Far from micromanaging the decision-making process, I’m pretty much on the sidelines—just me and my stress—perplexed that my wisdom and clairvoyance are being scorned in favor of blind exhuberance. Like my daughter and her fiance, my first wife and I were in our twenties when we married. Between us, we didn’t even have spare change of a clue. Ultimately our relationship ran out of gas, leaving our five children broken and bewildered. I suspect my daughter is striving for some measure of redemption. For her sake I hope she succeeds.
My main responsibility for the wedding ceremony, aside from mournfully walking my daughter down the aisle, is writing a poem for the occasion and reading it in front of what promise to be politely impatient guests. I wrote paper clip during my single days and performed it at two weddings, including my own. It’s a little too carefree to capture the weighty thoughts of an overwrought father. My words must be insightful and amusing—not intense, but effervescent—eloquence, affection and cleverness topped with a pretty pink bow. I’m reasonably certain that I’ve never written a poem like that.
Interestingly, I was specifically asked not to write a haiku.
My main responsibility for the wedding ceremony, aside from mournfully walking my daughter down the aisle, is writing a poem for the occasion and reading it in front of what promise to be politely impatient guests. I wrote paper clip during my single days and performed it at two weddings, including my own. It’s a little too carefree to capture the weighty thoughts of an overwrought father. My words must be insightful and amusing—not intense, but effervescent—eloquence, affection and cleverness topped with a pretty pink bow. I’m reasonably certain that I’ve never written a poem like that.
Interestingly, I was specifically asked not to write a haiku.
posted by extraspecialbitter at 9:15 AM
2 Comments:
I stand corrected--by myself. I wrote homebrew for my friend Scott's wedding a few years back. It features effervescence of a different variety.
I just re-read homebrew, and it brought a tear to MY eye, let me tell you.
Seriously (folks), I don't know of another poet I would trust more than you to write what's needed here.
Ah, fatherhood...
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