Not As Important

"It's ok.  I know that I'm not as important," my daughter tells me. 

And right there, that exact moment, is where I know that I have failed as a father.  I mean, fuck.  Where the hell did I go wrong?  I almost slam on the breaks when I hear her say it.  Someone slamming into the back of my car seems a lot less important than my daughter not thinking that she is important to me. 

"Woah!  Woah!  Woah!" I tell her.  No one should ever give you earth shattering info when you are driving.  It's a bad idea.  "What do you mean that you are not as important?" 

"I know that you can't make all my practices.  It's ok.  I know that you have the two boys that need you," she says. 

"You need me too.  Hell, I need you!"  I say.  I'm in panic mode.  If I get pulled over while driving, I"m going to explain to the police officer that my daughter's confidence in her father is shot.  I'm sure they will understand.

"There are some practices I can't make, sure," I say.  "Your mom works late and the boys don't do well sitting in the stands watching you.  I love it, though."

"You do?" my 11-year-old asks me.

"Fuck yeah I do."  I know I'm cussing here.  But I feel that it is necessary so that my daughter can fully see my commitment to the conversation.  I want her to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she is the sun in my universe.  I revolve around her and she is more important than the very light of the day. 

"But it's just practice," she says.  "Isn't it boring?"

"Hell no, it's not boring.  I watch you all the time at practice.  I see your overhand serves.  I see when you dig the volleyball.  I know when run into the net.  I love practice.  It's, hands down, my favorite thing to do during the week."

"What about soccer practice with the boys?"

"I like those too, sure.  But that doesn't mean I don't like your volleyball practices."

"Really?"

"Really.  I mean, come on, you are my firstborn.  How can you think anyone is more important to me than you?"

"But it's just practice,"  she says. 

"No, it isn't.  It's me watching my daughter doing something that she loves.  And on the very rare occasion that I have to miss one, I feel like shit about it.  I miss you, little girl.  Don't you know that?"

"I suppose."

"Suppose nothing.  And never think that anyone is more important to me than you.  I quit my job just to spend time home with you."

"I know."

"And how many years ago was that?"

"I don't know."

"Nine.  Nine years.  That's how long ago I quit my job to stay home with you.  I gave it all up because it was nothing without my daughter."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah.  And I wouldn't go back, even now, if it meant that I couldn't come to your volleyball games and practices.  Jesus, honey.  You're my girl."

"I like being your girl," she says. 

"Good.  Now how about tonight after practice we go get a pony."