Every time I walk around this old, loved house I can’t help but think of her. Memories of her childhood flood into my mind: her pink ballerina dress and her little Sunday shoes. Oftentimes, she would run into my arms crying because of a spider in her room or in the closet, and I can remember what mischievous fun it was to chase her around the house with them. I laugh because killing spiders and scaring away monsters fulfilled my purpose in her life. But now, he will be the one killing her spiders.
I don’t mean to seem resentful or unhappy; this is what we have hoped for, prayed for. Since birth we have prayed for her and her husband. And yet…there it is again: jealousy creeping up inside of me. I knew this would happen. All fathers know that one day their daughters’ gazes will turn from them, to their princes in shining armor.
When he comes over to the house, I see little differences that start to annoy me — like the way he eats his food or throws back his head when he laughs. It is so hard to stop myself from belittling him. I can remember how highly I thought of them when they started dating. He is a good man; I don’t want to dislike him. But my mind starts trailing off when we are with them, and I think about the first play she was in, and her charismatic bow at the end. He doesn’t know what made her laugh as a baby or cry in kindergarten. Does he really understand how precious she is? He didn’t see her, he can’t possibly know. And yet, he told me he loved her. He was sincere when he said it, his eyes even lit up.
I start to miss all of her past boyfriends, not because I want them for her but because their presence meant I had more time. But, I have prayed for this man. Yes, this man. Maybe that’s why this is so hard. Because he is clearly a man, and so she can no longer be my little girl. Why is he making me realize she is growing up when I have known that for years? It's funny, all of the things you think you know and then something happens which makes you end up feeling lost.
I have come to realize that I am a spectator watching a life that I was once so a part of. She will no longer cry on my shoulder, nor will she look to me for protection, no. And this is how it should be. She is not excluding me out of spite or anger, in fact, she probably doesn’t even know this is hard for me. No, I must watch because it is an intimacy that I was not created to share. Killing spiders, chasing away monsters in her closet, am I insane to be jealous?
