She grew up so fast—it seems like
yesterday she was just in a cradle trying to grab hold of my face. Today, she’s
four and is about to attend kindergarten. My wife, she has been going back and
forth from her parents’ home to rummage for her old clothes for our daughter.
Both of us didn’t have the heart to tell her that she will be leaving her
little comfort zone and is growing up. When we finally did, she took it well.
Her eyes glimmered in the sunshine and her skin glowed.
“Good morning, big girl,” I smile at
the stubby-legged girl who frolicked into the kitchen. My daughter’s wavy brown
hair flows and whips as she jumps, approaching me with a little red polka dot
dress with a green ribbon tied around her waist.
“Good morning, Daddy,” she tugs on
my hand, standing at my feet.
I crouch down to peck on her soft
chubby cheek while she does the same for me. I rub my thumb against her plump lips, using
my other fingers to sweep away the loose strands of her hair away from her
face.
“You look beautiful today, who
dressed you?”
Her cheeks turn redder, “Mommy…” she
mumbles, shying away from me.
“Don’t mess her hair up,” a familiar
voice rings in the room. “It took me five minutes.”
I look up at the womanly figure
walking into the room with her hands wiping on her washed out jeans.
“Well, sorry,” I smirk at her. “She
looks beautiful; just like you.”
She makes a ‘pft’ from her lips, “She
got the personality from you.”
Our daughter’s chubby arms wrap
around my neck, pulling her close to me, “Yay, I’m like Daddy!”
“Madeline, how about you go get
ready?” she combs her hair with her slender fingers.
“Okay!” she lets go of me then prances
into the living room.
I stand up and grab my wife tight, “What’s
the matter?”
Her fingers smooth over my neck,
brushing over my stubble, “You’re going to miss our daughter’s first day of
school.”
Then it suddenly breaks my heart to
think that I’ll miss the one of the biggest steps of her life.
I sigh, “I… Just text me a picture,
I’m pretty sure I’d still be in the departure hall.”
She pulls me into a short kiss,
letting her lips and nose brush against mine. I try to be the best dad as I can
be; trying to make up for the big steps I’ve missed from her. Of course I didn’t
miss the first time she spoke, walked and laughed. Both of us constantly take
pictures, filling a rustic album. It may seem a little old-fashioned but that’s
just the way we like it.
When Joy arrives to fetch me to the
airport, Madeline and her mom gather at the porch. Madeline hugs me first, “Make
sure you call me every night until you get back.”
I laugh at her persistence, “I will.”
“And… And tell me bedtime stories over
the phone-”
“No, Madeline, Mommy’s going to read
you your stories until I get back, okay?” I squeeze her shoulders. Her eyes
have gone glassy; the hazel orbs bare themselves to me.
This is probably the first time I’m
going to be away from her. My mom said it’s natural for kids to adopt
separation anxiety at this age. Let’s hope that it’s not going to stick around
for long.
“But promise you’ll come back,” her
voice shakes all of a sudden. Her mother then crouches next to her, placing her
hand on my hand that is on Madeline’s shoulder.
“I
promise,” I nod, smiling reassuringly. “Now, you’ve got school. Be nice to
the kids and teacher there, all right? Don’t make boys cry.”
She gives me another forceful hug,
burying her face in my chest, “I love you, Daddy. Stay safe.”
I look at my wife who was stroking
her back, smiling at the clinginess our daughter has shown.
“I love you too.”
***
“Tell me more!” Madeline jumps on
her four poster bed with her orca plush. The bed shakes furiously. The crickets
in our backyard croak in a chorus in the summer night. It is the time where
Madeline doesn’t attend school until Fall—translation: endless fictional tales
from me.
“Well,” I sheepishly laugh, “I’ll
tell you more if you’d sit still.”
Instantaneously, she stops, falling
onto the bed to make one big bounce on the bed. I marvel at her immense
fascination with my poorly organized stories, I don’t see anything special
about them. My wife thinks that it’s probably because I keep telling stories
about animals—she adores animals. We’re
planning to get a Pembroke Corgi for her on Christmas Day. It’s said to be the
most kid-friendly dog. That’s what we need at the moment: a family dog.
She scrambles to the other side of
the bed where I sit and climbs onto my lap, “I’m still!”
I sigh, laughing, “You’re very
persistent, do you know that?”
“What’s presistanch?” she wiggles
her nose at the newfound word.
“You’ll never give up until you get
the things you want,” I mess her hair.
“Then what’s demanding?” she pouts
with her eyes as big as red globe grapes.
“That’s different, Madeline. This is
a good thing,” I tap lightly on the tip of her pudgy nose. Madeline’s resemblance
to my wife is amazing. I couldn’t say no to both of them.
Just then there is a knock at the
door.
“Am I interrupting?”
Who would’ve thought—it’s her.
A grin paints her face, letting
herself in anyway.
“Mommy! Mommy! Daddy said I am presistash!”
she hops off the bed and runs to her mother’s open arms.
She lifts her up into her arms and
Madeline clutches onto her baggy green shirt, “Oh really?” she glances at me
with an eyebrow cocked.
“Oh yeah! And he’s about to continue
his story!” her arms lace around her neck.
“Well, let us listen to his
unfinished story then,” she waltz to the bed, settling down next to me with
Madeline’s legs sprawled all over our laps.
I clear my throat before continuing.
“Uhum… The… Seal dived back into the
icy waters and met the friendly polar bear who waved at him. But the seal didn’t
see the polar bear wave because he was worried that the pearl had gone deep
into the sea and he won’t be able to find it on time.”
“Oh no,” she gasps.
“Right, oh no; so the seal swam as
close as he can to the sea bed and tried to find the pearl. Unfortunately, it
didn’t turn up after hours of searching and the seal was running out of breath.
When the seal surfaced, he saw the polar bear again.”
A few more minutes into the story,
she begins to daze off in her mother’s arms. We lift her into her bed and tuck
her in. I place her orca plush right beside her underneath the covers then
switch on her nightlight projects the solar system (it was a gift from her aunt
the minute Madeline was born).
Before leaving the room, each of us
plant a kiss on her forehead.
My wife hooks her arm around mine, “What
was the ending?”
“Hmm…” I ponder as we exit the room,
“The seal realized the pearl wasn’t that precious. After all, it was just made
from worthless sand.” I shrug.
“You didn’t have an ending, did you?”
she chuckles, shaking her head.
“No,” I laugh along.
***
Christmas
comes with a blizzard and heaps of snow piled up in our front lawn. Madeline
couldn’t detach herself from jumping into a thick layer of snow and making
distorted snow angels. While my siblings were over to decorate the house with
ornaments and streamers, she was too busy playing Jack Frost. It was some kind
of original game she made up. I had promised her that I would play with her
after the house is fully decorated.
On
Christmas Eve my family decided to break the family tradition and have the
Christmas dinner at my house. Trust me, the day before the dinner the kitchen
was like a battlefield. Madeline was digging her finger into cake and cookie
batter, leaving traces of chocolate and red velvet on the kitchen island. She
didn’t completely cause havoc in the kitchen, she actually helped around—mixing
ingredients, going grocery shopping for her mother with me, reciting the cooking
instructions and more mixing. I helped too, of course.
At
night, Madeline and I would practice singing Christmas carols for my family.
Eventually when she grows up, we’ll go to hospitals and sing Christmas carols
to the ill like what I did when I was younger.
We
decided to do Silent Night and I’ll Be Home for Christmas on the grand piano.
It was a little hard to convince her to sing a real Christmas carol other than
Jingle Bells; thanks to her mother’s input, she caved in. And may I say that
our daughter has a lovely singing voice, like a little mockingbird. She’s like
a mini jukebox of some kind. Wonder who she got that from.
After
we feast on the lovely banquet, I lead the family to the music room. The music
room was constructed especially for my use (and probably Madeline’s use if she
takes personal interest in music and whatnot); where I can invite my
collaborators and do song writing. The room is well-lit because I wanted the
most of the room’s walls to be made out of glass, so the flow of creative
juices is smooth. And yeah, it’s definitely been working.
I
bring out Madeline, coaxing her out to the grand piano. Her cheeks turn red hot
and she’s fumbling with the hem of her dress.
“Come
on, just like we practiced,” I whisper to her. My mom is the one most excited
to see how Madeline sounds like, I can see her with her hand cupping her mouth.
I
slide on the seat followed by her. The room goes dead silent as soon as I start
to play the first key on the piano. For Silent Night, we harmonize; she sounds outstanding
and adorable although her knees are wobbling but they stopped once we are
halfway through the song—that’s when her voice gets louder. Her voice projected with such grace that my
13-year old self can’t do and she’s four!
I’ll
Be Home for Christmas is all her minus my occasional harmonizing. I don’t know
if my mom got emotional but she is definitely rubbing her eyes an awful lot. My
dad beamed, my siblings tilt their heads and say aww. My wife, on the other
hand, clutches her chest as Madeline’s pigtails bob when hitting the high
notes.
My
heart melts at the sight of her radiant face. She’s so happy that her smile has gone into a
thin line.
By
the time our little number’s done, my wife runs up to her and grabs her face
then tells her how beautiful she sang both songs. My dad leans in to tell me
that he sees another singer in the family. I glance at the stubby-legged girl
with gorgeous brown hair, surrounded by family and next to her is a larger and
older version of her. And then, I feel glad that I’m doing this whole parenting
thing right.
Madeline
breaks away from the crowd, toddling to me.
“When
can we do this again! It’s so fun!” she tugs on my sleeve with much enthusiasm.
“How
about we do it every year? Say… Like a tradition?” I hold her chubby hands.
She
nods, trying not to burst into excitement.
“Now
come on, let’s dance. I’ll let you stand on my feet this time,” I manage a
grin.