Kicking around the empty nest

Late on Sunday afternoons the ringing phone signaled Dad's weekly check-in and report. He'd start off with some line about living the lonely life of a bachelor, alternately bemoaning and celebrating his diet of canned vegetables, Doritos and the occasional Marie Callendar frozen treat. But, we knew better. As a married man, he watched sitcoms and weeded the garden. As a bachelor, well, his dance card was full.

Laura describes it this way, "Dad had gotten more life into him. More hobbies, friends and extracurricular activities, like football games, bbqs, concerts." His weekly report made my own social calendar look decidedly bare.

So, it was no surprise when Dad traveled to one government conference or another -- where meetings of interminable lengths send the khaki-ed crowd out in search of well-earned drinks -- that he returned with photos of women he had met.

Little did we -- or even, he -- know at the time, that the redhead pictured would become his first Girlfriend in middle age. In the beginning, of course, it was the awkward telling of all hesitant romance. No, she is not my Girlfriend. We were just "hanging out." "Having fun."

That didn't last for long, though -- soon they replaced beers with dinner and dancing and started making introductions to friends and family. I asked my sister when she first noticed the real difference in Dad. "I think he changed when he kissed her in front of me, but I guess there was change before that ...."

But who could deny Dad this? Laura explains, "He has someone his own age to love him in a way we could never love him... I'm happy for the big guy."

This is the point, right? The reason that we invest time in building up the people we love -- in helping them become smart and independent and happy -- even, if, in the end, that means they leave the nest for new opportunities.

Sleeping Arrangements

In the weeks -- could it have been months? -- before Dad and Girlfriend's first overnight visit to my house, sleeping arrangements had been the subject of an interstate family debate. Dad -- a significantly religious man -- had been quite strict about such arrangement for his daughters. My fiancé and I were required to sleep in separate beds when we visited him and -- five married years later -- I still feel a little strange sharing a bed in that house. Nonetheless, it was not exactly a well-kept secret that Dad didn't sleep alone at home.

Laura's stand was clear. One on the couch. That's the rule. And, she certainly meant it much as a family prank, but a little as the squeamishness of the daughter of a dating Dad.

For me, a sense of judgment is the shadow of my childhood that I am the most uncomfortable with -- in real life, I don't follow the rules and I'm not comfortable imposing them on others. I've developed that strangely guilt-inspiring quality of equivocation - they're your morals, not mine. Do what you think is right.

And then, one Sunday morning as I was dragging into the family room to feed my meowing cat before ducking into the shower, I spied bleary-eyed Dad and night-shirted Girlfriend reaching for glasses and towels and coverings, door to my guestroom slightly ajar. I saw her hand on his back as she was leaning over him to pick something up. Intimacy. Just what he needed. And, suddenly, all too real.

One-Degree of Separation

This was my third introduction to Girlfriend and we weren't exactly fast friends. Laura and I were pre-disposed to like her (after harassing Dad for years about finding a sweetie), but, something in the way of women, maybe -- staking out ground even against people as innocuous as daughters (expect, of course, that anyone who has dated a father of adult children likely knows that there is nothing innocuous about daughters).

I first met Girlfriend in The Strip District of Pittsburgh on a bright Saturday morning. My mentor and I had road-tripped from Chicago the night before for a friend's wedding. Dad, Girlfriend, and my Aunt picked us up for brunch.

I was a little hesitant about meeting this way. I am intimidating. You might not expect it of a little 5'7" brunette with pixie hair flips, but my brusque manner and self confidence can make me seem a bit unapproachable. Particularly, perhaps, when blowing into town in a fancy convertible with my millionaire mentor to attend a wedding and reception at two of the City's premiere addresses. And, too, there is a gap between people who remain in their hometowns and those who move away. For better or worse, you can see the disconnect in the mannerisms, the dress, the colloquial -- as if leaving (or staying) is an affront in itself.

Which is all to say that it went as expected. Dad and Girlfriend in their leather jackets, alternately too quiet and very chatty, big laughs and awkward moments. Nerves and coffee all around. A mix of introductions and the inside stories of family and friends.

Glittery Fruit

Name a telltale sign that a bachelor's pad is not bachelor anymore. Thinking toiletries left behind? Too easy (and already there). Wine coolers in the fridge? Could have just been a party. Glittery fake fruit in the kitchen? Gotta be it.

Dad's shift from bachelor-hermit to half-of-a-couple is present in lots of little ways. Hobbies that we don't quite recognize as his own. Dance lessons. A speedy Corvette. Shopping.

Busy and happy, he's planning ahead in the fun ways of a new stage of life -- retirement. And he's seemingly enjoying every day of it, even the quirkier moments. For example, Dad recently took Girlfriend down to Florida to meet his mother. Browsing hats at a local shop, Grandma snatched off her wig and thrust it into Girlfriend's hands, belatedly asking her to hold it while she tried the hat on her fuzzy, balding head.

Of course, he's still there for us. Laura remembers her favorite Dad moment from the last year.

Laura told this story at my dining room table. She, my husband and I sat around on a late Tuesday afternoon (a weekday made holiday by her visit), drinking Coronas or Chardonnay and talking about what's changed and what's stayed the same.

We agree, what we miss isn't Dad's love or friendships -- it's...

[Laura and I stare around a bit, looking for the right words.]

"The amount of one-on-one time with your Dad," my husband offers.

"Bingo."

"That's it. That's the one."

Aging Bands

A few weekends ago, Dad and Laura came to town for a concert. Eric Clapton -- clad in white shoes that could be mistaken for a nurse's, Gap-wear and scrappy facial hair -- was the perfect aging rocker for a family outing. We easily broke into our familiar roles, Laura and Dad dancing in synch, Jim checking out the guitar stables, me people-watching and wondering how much has changed, really? How do you calculate the impact that you have on one another's lives?

Several pairs of anxious eyes were waiting to read the conclusion of our story about Raising Dad. My sister and I enjoy a reputation of being a bit unpredictable; repute perhaps well-earned with whispered, snarky comments and carefully honed avoidance strategies for extended family gatherings. The question -- barely veiled in the various pressures brought to bear -- is what will you say about The Girlfriend?

What they don't know, is that we lucked into a smidge of wisdom earlier than most .... It's not about her. It never was.

Part of growing up, part of knowing yourself and getting to know other people is letting go of the black-and-white of things. There are no easy definitions and the presumption of knowing what is Right generally turns out to be nothing more than vanity. You love the person. The choices are up to them.

In that way, Girlfriend gave Dad something new too. Laura describes it, "he's loosened up a bit and has become more accepting of things... relaxed."

This interview was significantly harder for my sister than the last. Remembering the past is one thing, talking about the present is quite a bit dicier. I asked her for a toast to Dad. Flustered, she turned it back on me -- "What about you? How would you answer the question. We'll see how easy it is ..."

So, here it is --

To, Dad who gave us our weepy responses, braying "church" laughs, and ability to have fun just about anywhere ...

You've been someone different to me in each decade of my life. And, I love you for each one of them. I wish you the best in whatever comes next. Happiness, peace and good health. Cheers!