I am Wes. I am an engineer. I invested time and money in a fancy formal education that included a lot of complicated math and laboratory work. In school I was encouraged to keep my writing simple yet informative, and to never use passive voice. My wife asked me to write a blog post. You are reading this blog post, you brave soul.
I am thirty seven years old. My daughter was born when I was thirty four. My father was twenty six and my mother was twenty five when I was born. When my parents were as old as I am now, they had a twelve year old kid in seventh grade busting into puberty like it was his job. They had their struggles, but here I am. I cannot fathom having a twelve year old girl. This haunts me. I am told this will happen someday. I suspect one day I’ll wake up and realize I have a twelve year old child living in my little girl’s bedroom. I predict it will happen sometime after she turns eleven, but I’ve learned to never bet on these sorts of gambles. I might be giving her a piggy back ride and then she will suddenly become five feet tall and dramatic.
My daughter is ridiculously cute. All parents think their child is cute, but I have empirical evidence to back up my claim. This cuteness also haunts me. I have no idea how pretty girls think. I only know how weird lanky proto-engineer boys with a loner streak think – if she were weird and lanky and a boy and had a loner streak I could give excellent advice, but alas, I will have to do my best with what I know. My daughter is also very clever, but at weddings you never hear the father of the bride gush about how clever she is; it’s always how radiant she is. If she gets married and wants me to say something in front of a gathering, I hope the word ‘clever’ pops out of my mouth way before ‘radiant’. Despite my fears, I spend the vast majority of my uncommitted time with my daughter. I would say ‘Enjoy it while you can’, but ‘enjoy’ seems like the wrong word. Live it while you can, and leave the world a better place than you found it through your child.
