Delighted Dad

This past February, my wife, Pam, and I travelled to the island country of St. Vincent to pick up a very special little girl – our 14-month-old adopted daughter. After spending two weeks bonding in paradise, we returned to the frozen tundra of Winnipeg.

The number-one question that I’ve been asked in the past months (not counting, “Was that you I saw streaking at the Brier?”) is, “What’s it like being a Dad?”

The short answer is: Great. Fantastic. Amazing. I love it. The long, much more detailed answer goes something like this:

Being a good father is a challenge, and being a good father in a wheelchair is an even greater challenge. Being a good father in a wheelchair to a little girl who has had very little exposure to men is like the spider trying to coax the fly into its web: not impossible, but definitely a sticky situation.

After three months of “Mama, Mama” and nary a “Dada,” I got thinking that perhaps my daughter didn’t really like me. Perhaps, to her, I was simply chopped liver on wheels. But after one particularly fun afternoon with my daughter, I suspected that I was actually making headway with her. Upon further reflection, I realized things were actually going pretty well. In fact, I was able to come up with no fewer than 10 reasons why I know I’m not chopped liver in my daughter’s eyes.

10. My daughter will lay her head on my chest and watch Bugs Bunny and the NHL playoffs. Even my wife won’t do that, unless I promise to do that thing she likes.

9. My daughter doesn’t laugh at me while I sing and dance to a funky tune. Rather, she starts to boogie along with me.

8. My daughter entrusts me with the responsibility of carrying her sippy cup around the house. This honour has been granted to no one else.

7. My daughter has never attacked me with a sharpened pencil, a blunt instrument or a firearm, and after watching any nightly newscast, I think that says something.

6. My daughter tells me amazing, animated stories that go on for 30 minutes or more. They include such characters as “Nospmis Trab,” “Srednalf Den” and “Upa.”

5. My daughter visits me in my office, and then points at the computer. She will only leave after I play her a danceable song, preferably something heavy like the music of Aerosmith, AC/DC or Linkin Park.

4. My daughter comes to me and puts her head on my knee, while hugging my leg tightly, when she is afraid – or after Mom reprimands her. At this point, I tell her Mom is evil, and only Dad will ever allow her to do anything she wants.

3. My daughter has taught me the true meaning of the saying, “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” She licks food off of her plate (like Dad), carries items in her mouth (like Dad) and uses colourful language (like Dad).

2. My daughter can look at me and smile, and my heart melts like butter in the microwave. Only one other person in the world can do that – and I married her.

And the number-one reason I know that I’m not chopped liver in my daughter’s eyes:

1. Each night, Alexandra Joy crawls across the bed to give her dad a good-night hug and kiss. Now I ask you... would she kiss a plate of chopped liver?

(New (and besotted) dad Ken Davis lives in Winnipeg, Manitoba.)

(Share with us the lighter side of living with a disability! Send 700 words to: The Lighter Side, ABILITIES, 340 College St., Ste. 650, Toronto, ON, M5T 3A9; or e-mail: [email protected].)