“Oh, mygod, Dad,seriously?No. I’m good. I like girls. It’s not a big deal.”
“Um…this is Tennessee. It can be a big deal in a bad way if you’re around intolerant people.”
She grabs the remote to pause the TV so she can focus on me again. “Dad. This isnota big deal, seriously. Your generation makes a much bigger deal about it than we do.”
Ouch. “My…generation?”Wow.
“Yeah.”She smiles. “Peopleyourage.”
Oh, gawd.“How old do you think I am, honey?”
She cocks her head. “You’re like fifty-five or sixty, right?”
I melodramatically flop back against the couch. “Holy crap,” I whine. “My daughter thinks I’m an old fart.” She tries to tickle me as I dodge her hands. “And the correct answer, thank you very much, is forty-six.”
I capture her in a hug and tightly holdher, my eyes closed as I struggle not to cry again. Ellen and I had planned to go to Alaska for my fiftieth birthday, just the two of us, since the kids got to go with Chase. We were going to take two weeks and explore glaciers, hike the mountains—all of it.
“Iknowyou’re only forty-six, Dad. I had a point to that.” She looks me in the eyes again, all humor vanished. “You’reyoung. Mom wouldn’twant you spending the rest of your life in mourning. She’d want you tolive. To findhappiness. I don’t mean I think you’ll be out partying next weekend, or signing up for Tinder tomorrow or anything. But she’d be the first one to tell you to remember her, love her and what you guys had, and don’t stay stuck in the past. That when you feel ready you should move forward and be happy. Find someoneelse, or do whatever you want, but becauseyouwant to.”
I want to cry—again—because yeah, that’s exactly what Ellen would have said. I know this because she and I had this conversation years ago.
It’s exactly what she said to me then, and exactly what I said to her.
“How’d you get so smart, sweetheart?”
She smiles. “I got a double-dose of genius from two halfway decent parental units.”
