I Puppet

What I didn’t expect is that something, somebody, could make me feel like this. Every squeak, every smile, every little wiggle she makes pulls the heart strings as if she were my emotive puppeteer. Up and down I dance for her, my tears of joy and pride illuminating my blush face and my reflection of her little life from mine. She can do no wrong. She is my light, but I am glowing.

Emotionless, she lay next to me in a Boppy© with her eyes wide open, exploring the light and colors of the living room. It’s 4am. She locked eyes with me for nearly five seconds and I told her I was her daddy, and that I loved her. I could hear how preposterous my own voice sounded as if I were talking to, well, a baby. She makes me do ridiculous things. I know she doesn’t understand me, but something inside her brain comprehends that I am significant. Something in her tells her to cry when she needs something, and my reaction is activated by ancient instinct; it is my job to investigate what the problem is, and to come up with a solution. Fortunately, for this rudimentary process, there are very few questions and answers: she’s always hungry, and it’s always poop. The solutions are always diapering and food, much like what I think my retirement will entail.

What I didn’t expect was how much love I felt from the start for somebody I had never met. It’s a deeper bond than a friendship or relationship: it’s family. It’s blood. She can’t answer me or understand when I say, “I love you,” or even that I love her, but she feels it in my actions in some way that she will comprehend someday, and forever after. Who knew I could love something?

I typed that last sentence with a few different endings, then after much consideration, I left it incomplete and as a question. It brings me back to my days of addiction, when not only was I incapable of loving somebody, I was equally inept at receiving love. In my active use, I knew many people who had abandoned their children for drugs, and I was indifferent because I knew I was no different. Had I been able to, or even by accident, created a life back then, I would no doubt have left a situation I couldn’t attend. Nothing then was as important as the pipe and bottle, and I would have been no better than the father that had abandoned me as a child. I should say that there are people that have changed their lives dramatically for their children, and not everybody has the same mindset that I did while using. There is a lot of success in addiction, there is just a lot more failure.

I am sober. Every day is a chance for me to be present and active in the lives of my children. The older two have never seen me drunk or high. They have never seen me abuse my wife (I should clarify that I have never abused my wife or any human under any condition.), or lose my temper. They always know I love them, and knowing that is one of so many reasons I stay away from the old me. He’s still up in my attic somewhere, but I have found a way to keep him suppressed by talking about it with other people like me. One drop and I lose all control. I am the hopeless type: I cannot stop unless I’m forced. So, the easiest solution is that I do not start again.

What are you going to be, Elsee? A doctor? The president? A chef like daddy? Time will tell. If you're a chef, learn for free from other chefs, so I don't have to pay for college. If you’re a doctor, help people feel better and deliver thousands of little babies. And if you’re the president, I know you’ll have the best words, and nobody will know more than you about anything. No matter what you become, Daddy will love you and encourage you along the way. I hope the way I look at you now is the same way I look at you on all of your accomplishments in life, and that you see my trust in your abilities to live life on your own when it is time. But until then, we will carry you, cherish you, wipe your butt, and make you feel at home. Little Elsee Anne, you are my greatest accomplishment. You kill me.