Curmudg Versus the Clock

Just when you finally learn how to appreciate the moment, it’s already gone.

TL;DR: Two daughters. Two college journeys. One father wondering how entire decades disappeared while he was busy trying to appreciate them.

I am the father of two only children.

Both females, much to my delight. Emily and Jensen (Ava at birth) are separated by 26 years and were raised in households with little in common other than moi. I was fortunate to get two chances at fatherhood, and have spent the years since Jensen’s birth trying to take maximum advantage of the opportunity.

But as hard as I’ve tried to take my own Curmudgedly advice—to live in the moment, to appreciate all that is happening in the lives of my daughters—it so often feels like a blur. Being in the moment in an effort to slow time. Sure. It’s an oxymoron. I’m the moron for thinking it could happen.

No matter the moment, time just keeps slipping into the future. (h/t Steve Miller Band.)

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Yesterday I took Emily to college.

Wait…What?

It was like thirty years ago. She and I packed her belongings into two cars—hers and mine—and drove the short distance to Mills College in Oakland. No doubt being an only child, Emily was hoping for a single room, which, to her delight, she got. That was the part I was most stressed about for her.

The moment of goodbye was mildly traumatic for me—I had been a single parent for most of her high school years, so I felt the tiniest bit of relief at the prospect of a decreased workload. Emily’s mom and I had separated ten years earlier when we were living in Houston. I moved to California a few years later.

Emily moved to California the summer before high school. She was worldly and confident. Much of this was due to her mom checking out as a parent.

I saw a typical example shortly before Emily’s 16th birthday. I suggested a short driving lesson with me. She laughed.

“I’ve been driving since I was 14. When Mom didn’t feel like going to the market, she’d toss me the keys.”

While I clearly missed Emily’s presence in the house, I had no compunctions about her finding her way around the Mills community and settling down in her new space. She was ready for the experience. While I thought I was ready, as well, I remember coming home and sensing her fingerprints in every room. The best I could do in the moment was take a deep breath and be thankful for the journey of her life up until this day.

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Yesterday, friends and family joined me in celebrating Emily’s graduation from Mills College.

Uh, not.

It was more like 27 years ago. Yet the memory feels so clear I can almost smell it.

I was living in a spectacular condo on Nob Hill in San Francisco. While I’m loath to acknowledge that a physical thing can be the source of happiness, I must say 1001 California Street sure was. It was the home where I healed from some deep wounds and was able to pick myself up and reengineer my life. I began my yoga and meditation practice there, both of which helped me become more grounded.

I still dream of the place all these years later.

Gathering friends and family to celebrate Emily was a wonderful evening. Emily’s mother, grandmother, aunt, and cousin flew in from Houston. Everyone was on their best behavior, allowing the commencement celebration to take precedence over old wounds.

Traci was even there—we weren’t married, we weren’t even dating.* She was a work colleague from Men’s Wearhouse (MW). Really!!

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Yesterday, Traci and I dropped Jensen off at Scripps College.

No way…

It was like four years ago. I had begun to dread the day four years earlier when she started high school and I realized how time was speeding up, not slowing down.

On the day we dropped Jensen off, tears were shed—mostly by me.

Two days later, as I was driving near home and listening to music, I noticed how many songs in my library Jensen had introduced me to. At one point, a song I hadn’t heard before began to play. It had a haunting melody, and as I was thinking about Jensen and my hopes for her at college, I heard the refrain:

“Los Angeles, be kind.”

OY!

I had to pull over to the side of the road, crying uncontrollably. The song was called Los Angeles, Be Kind by Owl John.

That’s all I wanted. For her to be OK. For her experience at Scripps College in Los Angeles to be good. Maybe for the school and the town to fill in for the parents, who were now 400 miles away. The academics, the out-of-class activities, the friends—all on her. She was going to have to carve out her place and be her own person.

This time around, I was more nervous. Jensen was less worldly than Emily, mostly for reasons beyond her control. Covid stole a big piece of normal adolescence from kids her age. Her second semester as a sophomore and half of her junior year happened from a distance. (The great social observation of the next two decades will be decoding the aftereffects of Covid on a generation of school-age children.)

When Jensen, at age 16, asked us if she could go to a party because, as she said, “I’ve never been to a party before,” my heart dropped. That’s a large part of the Covid fallout on her age group. Social isolation at that age is the exact opposite of what those kids needed and deserved.

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This past weekend, Jensen graduated from Scripps.

She really did!

It was like a minute ago the whole Owl John thing happened. Los Angeles was kind. Jensen made great friends, had a wonderful educational experience, and graduated with honors, I’m proud to say.

And while the parents were all high-fiving each other after the ceremony, I couldn’t help but think I had nothing to do with Jensen’s graduating from Scripps. Just had to write the checks and get out of her way. Actually, I didn’t even write checks, thanks to her 529 account. Traci gets a high 2½ as I’ve noticed she and Jensen have bonded more since college began.

The least Jensen could have done while she was away at school was to slow down time for her poor curmudg of a father. Ingrate.

What are you gonna do?

Once again, it’s the “time” thing.

Augusten Burroughs, in Possible Side Effects, notes this about it :

“I was in awe of time’s elasticity. Sometimes it compresses. Sometimes it stretches.
And yet it always does one when you need the other.”

One day, I might realize no matter how aware I am of time’s rapid pace, it’s still going to have a mind of its own. Kinda like the daughters I am so fortunate to have in my life.

So maybe that’s a good thing after all.

*Although truth be told, Traci had her eye on me.
…Wait…
Truth be told? I had my eye on her…

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