My daughters are very different people. They require me to show my love and support in different ways in order to help them feel it. Here’s what it’s like for me being a dad to these girls:

What being a dad means to me with daughter #1

Daughter #1 is an old soul.

I look in her eyes and see wisdom and patience on a level I’ve only recently achieved—as an adult!—and marvel at how much further she’ll go in life than I ever will.
I watch her work through situations and remind myself that if someone so young can be so self-aware, then I really have no excuse.
I ask questions to draw her out, and find out where her limits are, and am always pleasantly surprised that they’re further out than those of many adults I know.
I think about all the people who will dismiss her out of hand because of her age, and how she’s likely to respond to that.
I create opportunities and conditions where she can bypass as many of those people as possible, either by putting her with people who will draw her out as I do, or by talking with them in a way that frames their expectations. (Remember those psych 101 lessons about how substitute teachers getting inverted directions about which students were smart and which were trouble makers, and how they would inevitably report back that the smart kids were trouble makers and the trouble makers were little geniuses? I do remember, and I put that knowledge to practice on a regular basis.)
I think about what elementary school would be like if I had to go through it with an adult mindset, and formulate plans for dealing with friends, freeze outs, and bullies accordingly.
I give her hugs that are not as tight as I like to give, because she doesn’t like being squeezed. And sometimes, while my arms are around her, I hug her ribs with my fingers until she is howling with laughter.
I check in with her once a week for 30 minutes before school to catch any issue that may have slipped through nightly talks.
I look for hints of the brooding that accompanies Phase 2 and see if I can’t find ways through it or around it.
I connect her with videos, people, books, poems, paintings, websites, places, events, knowledge, and ideas that I think will spark her curiosity.
I tell her how much I love her.
I encourage her to ditch me for her friends.
I get things down from the high shelves that she can’t reach.
I listen to music with her and talk about what the lyrics mean.
I show her how to use the computer and step away.
I have her read her poems to me.
I send her my love and imagine her smiling when I’m out of town.
I tuck her in every night with the same, “Good night, sleep tight, I love you, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
I tell her she’s beautiful.
I ask her how school was.
I get her to see silver linings.
I let her curl up with me on the couch to watch a movie.
I take her on errands and explain little stuff, like how a faucet works.
I tell her the truth when she asks for it.
I look at photos of her as a baby and replay my favorite moments with her so far in my mind.
I wonder what she’ll teach me tomorrow.
I write things for her.
I make up games, like, “guess what word this is when I say it backwards.”
I wonder when and who her first kiss will be.
I let her listen to my business calls. I cut blog videos with her.
I take her for drives, walks, and bike rides.
I treat her like an adult.
I take her on daddy-daughter dates, where each time she’s allowed to ask me one question that I promise to answer fully and truthfully, no matter what the question is.

What being a dad means to me with daughter #2

Daughter #2 is a love bug.

I look in her eyes and see innocence and wisdom completely different from her sister, yet so deep and pure that I can’t help wondering if she wasn’t someone’s guardian angel who decided she wanted to get born.
I listen to how fast she does math in her head and laugh in pleasant surprise.
I ask questions about her day and her friends to learn what she does when I’m not around.
I think about how age appropriate her behavior is.
I take inspiration from her innocence.
I think about how unconditionally loving she is and anticipate how I’ll help her continue to love like that the day after her innocence is lost.
I create opportunities and conditions where she can learn by empathizing with others.
I watch her make friends at dance class and get choked up by how fast and good she is at it.
I watch her face light up when she schedules a sleep over with her oldest friends, and picture them standing up at one another’s weddings many years from now.
I give her hugs that are as tight as I can, because she likes big bear hugs like her dad.
I forget how to kiss her and make her laugh by kissing too soon, too late, too left, too right, or by strawberrying her forehead by “accident.”
I check in with her once a week to catch any issue that may have slipped through nightly talks.
I hide (poorly) with her every night in her room before bedtime from her mom. (We’re always in the same place.)
I read to her, but not as much as I’d like to.
I get things down from the high shelves that she can’t reach.
I share my music with her and listen to hers. We listen to the rhythms, the beats, and the melodies. We can do this forever together.
I make her watch important movies like Back to the Future and Ghostbusters.
I learn to put her hair into a side pony and do it when asked.
I make her my special mac and cheese and my “Florida grilled cheese.”
I send her my love and imagine her laughing into fits when I’m out of town.
I call her my pumpkin pudding princess angel.
I tell her she’s beautiful.
I ask her how school was.
I let her curl up with me on the couch to watch a movie of her choice.
I take her on errands and talk about nothing important.
I start her lanyards.
I ask if boys are still yucky.
I tell her the truth when she asks for it, which she rarely does—yet.
I look at photos of her as a baby and replay my favorite moments with her so far in my mind.
I think of her eyes.
I’m too hard on her and ask my wife how to fix things.
I write things for her.
I try to schedule business trips so I can have her join me one day.
I watch her teach herself how to do backbend walkovers.
I take her for drives, walks, and bike rides.
I treat her like someone about 5 years older than she is.
I take her on daddy-daughter dates, where each time she’s allowed to ask me one question that I promise to answer fully and truthfully, no matter what the question is.