About a year ago my husband Tim came home from a soccer meeting bubbling over with plans to join an Adventure Princess tribe with our youngest daughter Kolby.
(FYI…Adventure Princess used to be known as Indian Princess, but apparently “Indian” is politically incorrect now)
All I know is that it’s a daddy daughter group that includes games, monthly meetings, harbor cruises, camping and money invested in the process of all these grand adventures.
I confess I was INITIALLY excited for them, until I saw the schedule of trips and the fees—then a part of me felt slightly resistant and maybe a little jealous.
Where’s my eight trips a year? Can I spend the same amount of money bonding with our other kids? Faith and I like to shop—just saying.
So my husband embarks on this new endeavor with Kolby and they join the “Wolfpack” circle. The first meeting they return home with purple sweatshirts and patches, crafts and fringed vests. Kolby acquires the ability to howl and Tim seems to truly enjoy time with the other wolf dudes.
Kolby is now known as “Sparkling Unicorn Princess” and Tim is “SOARING FALCON.”
They camp, they bond and I take it all in—mildly skeptical.
It doesn’t help that a friend tells me some gossipy things about the Ladera dads and their excuse to get away and party after the kids go to sleep. In general, I try not to listen to second-hand-info, but because it’s a group I’m NOT invited to, the juicy tidbits create a little more distrust in my spirit.
I grill my husband when he returns from his first trip but he assures me all is well.
Hmmmmm…
Unfortunately, halfway through the year my husband has emergency spine surgery and the Wolfpack activity is put on hold until daddy recovers.
And now it’s June, and the last meeting of the year. But Tim is out of town on a football trip with my son Kyle, so the pack leader suggests I bring little Kolby to the meeting.
Come again?
The Wolf Dudes want me to bring my five-year-old girl to a pool party meeting with men?
Now I’m really feeling VERY AWKWARD but my baby girl wants to go so I acquiesce. I bring Faith with me as backup and a good book. I wear a modest bathing suit and put on my pastor’s wife game face–the “no funny business” one.
I show up at the pool leery. I have visions of Animal House with the little girls in a corner doings crafts while the dad’s deal cards.
But to my surprise, the first thing I see is a big jolly guy with a huge smile in a neon orange shirt schlepping water toys down to the pool with two adorable little girls.
He introduces himself as the leader and invites me to join them. This man is like Santa—he’s so good-natured and affable. The girls run shrieking for the pool and the leader guy jumps in and plays water games with ten little girls attached to him for the next hour. The other dads stand around quietly talking and catching up.
There is no alcohol. No crazy stuff. No strippers. Just pizza and maybe a little too much sugar with the brownies, juice and otter pops—but that’s the extent of the shenanigans.
After the pool games wrap up, the men and girls gather in a circle and each child introduces herself and her dad and they share a small story. It’s hard for some kids, but the dad’s encourage and guide them. I help Kolby and although she is the youngest in the group she is brave and speaks up in a small sweet voice.
Then the girls run off and play—jacked up on sugar—and the dad’s talk “ADULT BUSINESS.”
“OK. Now it’s coming, I think. I tense up. This is the juicy stuff my neighbor warned me of.
Except what happens next is the dad’s get serious about planning the next camping trip. They talk food and grills and the architecture of sailboats and sandcastles.
And I am left in my seat for a very long hour—both humbled and ashamed—as I watch these kind good men take the time to invest in their daughters and create lasting memories.
Yes-these man boys are a little competitive and some of the wild stories of paddle board races and stormy nights scare me because of my over-protective mama bear tendencies—but I also know that a little rough and tumble adventure with a dad is what every little girl needs to feel loved and cherished and empowered to believe she can make it in the world all on her own.
I sit in my seat and pray—and ask God to forgive me for judging that which I have no understanding of. I confess how easy it is to listen to the “bad things” instead of “believing the best” about people. And a tear runs down my face as I think about my husband and his desire to father and love our children to the best of his ability.
Boy, I can be a real schmuck sometimes—God help me!
Kolby and I Face Timed Daddy that evening night and told him about the meeting. I apologized for my doubts. Of coarse, my sweet husband forgave me and I could see his relief that I was now a supporter instead of a skeptic.
Ok, so I was wrong. (BIG GULP)
The Wolfpack rocks. And today my husband is camping with our little girl while I write this. On the sand, with a hurt back–probably dirty and cold. And those two monkeys are probably loving every minute of it.
As Father’s Day approaches, and I desperately miss my own dad in heaven now, I think about how important the love of a father is.
I think about my own distrust towards men and how is husband is changing my heart AND MY DAUGHTERS one deposit of love at a time.
And I am grateful.
–Samantha
What could you do to create lasting memories with your child?
