Dennis Rogers' letter to his daughter on her 16th birthday

I should have done this yesterday when I was writing my column today about Dennis Rogers, who was our columnist for 31 years until he retired 18 months ago.  This morning, after the column appeared, people started emailing me, in part to say that, yes, they missed Dennis a lot, and also to ask me if I could send them the 1978 column.  I asked Denise Jones  of our News Research staff to see if she could find the column, and she said, sure, and without even asking she said that if she found it, she would type it up.  You see, back in 1978, we didn't have digital archives. We had files of stories and columns that our library staffers would cut out of the paper and file.

I have also asked our web staff to see if they could put a link next to the online version of my column. Update:  Dennis' column is now here as a separate story page for those who want to print it out or email it to your particular 16-year-old daughter or niece or granddaughter and don't want my blog chatter.

Happy 16th birthday and goodbye, little girl
Sept, 1, 1978

By Dennis Rogers

For all the little girls about to become women, but mostly for their daddies…
You looked at me that first day and I knew my life would never be the same again.  It was in your eyes, blue eyes that would hardly focus.
Those baby eyes met mine for an instant and that special love between a daddy and his little girl began to grow. 
I looked at you with uncertainty, that first day so long ago, maybe even with fear.  I had never been a daddy before.  No one had ever depended on me so completely.  And I had never loved anyone that way before. 
Husbands love wives, brothers love sisters, friends love each other, fathers love sons and mothers love daughters, but somehow, in ways that I don’t understand, the love of a father for a daughter is special. 
I watched with awe as you grew.  Soon chubby hands grew strong, grasping my outstretched finger like a baseball bat as we played. 
I could watch you then, without feeling self-conscious when you caught my eye, when you saw me staring, captivated by your magic. 
I would throw you in the air, you giggling and your mother clucking worriedly behind us.   You looked at me with such complete trust.  You knew I wouldn’t let you fall. 
We played a lot in those days.  There was more time, it seemed, more time to be a family.  You rode miles on my knee, laughing as we rode to market on a silver horse and a father’s dreams. 
And you kept on growing.  Lace dresses replaced droopy diapers, and soon scruffy jeans replaced the dresses.  You grew taller, more awkward.  Your baby charm faded on a dusty playground. 
Schoolbooks cluttered the house.  Would you ever unlock the mystery of the multiplication tables?  You sat hunched over, chewing on a random piece of hair, scribbling in that funny scrawl.  Sometimes tears would come when it got too difficult.  You tried so hard not to disappoint me.  Sometimes I feared I was asking too much of one so young. 
I knew I would lose you one day.  I could tell when it started, but you probably never noticed.  But one day you were in a hurry to go outside, there wasn’t time to sit in your daddy’s lap.  I watched you run out to play, excitement in your eyes, a giggle in your voice.  I was happy for you … but not for me.
It wasn’t all smiles.  I have been strict, sometimes too much so.  I have said no when my heart wanted to say yes.  I have seen hurt in your eyes, and disappointment when neither of us lived up to the other’s expectations.  That is what happens when two people expect the other to be perfect.
There were times when I wanted to pick you up and shake you , like a puppy that had misbehaved.  What was right was so easy to see.  I wanted to shout, why can’t you see it?
But I couldn’t be you.  I had to leave the pain of growing up to you.  I could be there to wipe the tears or hold you close when the world slapped you down, but the pain was yours alone to bear. 
I have stood outside your room and listened to you cry. 
You didn’t know I was there, the same way you didn’t know I was there all those nights after you went to bed and I took a moment to stand in the shadows and watch you sleep.  You didn’t know I was there those nights when you cried out in your sleep, and I rushed to your room to make sure you were all right, your mother at my side.
Now we have come to the next great plateau in our lives together.  Today you are 16.  Now you have friends of your own, a life outside our home.  You even have a job, beginning to earn your own way. 
I watch you now, and you still don’t see me doing it.  I watch as you become a woman, stealing a man’s heart as you have so often stolen mine.  I watch as you learn to drive, cutting that last tie that binds. 
For 16 years you have brought me exquisite joy, unbearable pain, numbing fear and, yes, flashes of anger. 
But through it all, you have given me your trust and your faith.  I have tried so hard to deserve them. 
Now you are 16.  My heart bursts with pride at the person you have become.  You are mature, attractive, self-confident, eager to take on the world on the world’s terms. 
Growing up to be a young woman is not easy.
But then neither is growing up to be a daddy.