These are the days I hope Essie remembers.
I remember very little from when I was 4, almost 5 – the smell of Mrs. Park’s Korean BBQ wafting through the apartments, buying my first skateboard with my dad, my first fight and the eye patch I had to wear because of the piece of stick that got stuck in my eye, winning the jog-a-thon at school, the night when we thought we’d encountered the “Night Stalker.”
But I hope Essie remembers our nights at the beach, the 50 sea anemones she made me touch, when I swooped her up from the incoming rogue wave, the giant sea slug, running barefoot through the sand playing tag, taking pictures of her on the tide pools, eating ice cream on our daddy daughter date – bubble gum and dulce de leche.
One of my biggest fears is that I will let her down as a father – not in the teenage way like “I hate my parents and I know what’s best for me” way. She may or may not go through that stage. I fear I will pass down the idiosyncrasies I can’t stand in myself– my mean tone, my short temper, my propensity towards anger. I’ve seen it happen in my own family.
I hope it’s days like these that outweigh my shortcomings.