Musing

today’s Musing written and published from south Calgary, near Fish Creek Park

walk report: -9C/16F, sunny, calm, the alley route of rutted ice like a horizontal Khumbu icefall but that was easier to walk than the streets, at first I think she figured they were giant rabbits - Gusta found two potential Samoyed friends behind a fence

being my daughter cannot have been easy – I’ve been a lot less than I could have been, less than I should have been – but they turned out to be great in spite of my shortcomings;
most days I feel close - daughters 200 miles away - we talk frequently enough, can connect if we need, make time when we want or feel compelled; some days the connection seems weaker – like this one, as I ponder things I might have done differently

not inches or feet, distance - between close and far, or close and not so far is like a rope fallen slack, no way of knowing a connection remains unless we pick up the rope and give it a tug to verify the connection still exists, then, when we do, all will be calm again; before day is out I am sure I will reach her, before week is out I am sure I will see her – I appreciate not everyone can, sometimes their connection is broken, permanently, irreversibly – no one on the other end, gone or lost or forgotten or pushed far away

product of my DNA and environmental influences, latent affects of being around and influenced by me and efforts to emulate me; being father is easy – sperm donation all it takes – the rest, a muddle of random and nature, some nurture; DNA imprints her with ‘me’ many ways, in others more like her mother yet she is more like me than her sister in some ways, unlike me in others but none seem to be opposites of me or ever clearly were

revolving-door-relationship-syndrome – maybe she got that from me too; also - flippant, short-tempered, rude, crude, funny, spontaneous, competitive, sweet, tender, thoughtful, thoughtless, irreverent – not all the time, just enough to notice she is like me as with her knee-jerk reaction tendency – sorry Krista, blame me for that one too

I don’t remember bad times or ‘oops there was a bad dad’ moments; I’m sure there were but I remember others so vividly – like the time I force-fed her first strawberry and the grin that followed, her wit first shown while still in a high-chair, her grit on the soccer field, her laughter, her depth, her rough exterior, her soft centre, her growing up, her growing wise, her lallo boops (yellow rubber boots) or her go-for-it on the field, court and rink – her cribbage games with her grandfather or her awe in a museum or on a Manhattan street corner; I am stunned to think how much more she has done for me than I have for her

Krista and I exchanged emails this week – to and fro - one of those weird internet conversations, but dialogue it was not; then we talked about the things we were e-mailing about, ‘issues-du-jour’, but I want to talk some more – for several days I’ve been wanting to re-connect beyond just voice-mails; I want to talk with my daughter, not just because it is her birthday (28) today but because I wanted to tell her how much it means to me that she is exactly who she is and how proud I am to be her father

Mark Kolke
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... with your voice, teach in order to learn


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