It was hard this week, but I found time to spend with my daughter. She turned eight this week, and we planned a bowling birthday party on Saturday for her and her Brownie troop. Then, on Sunday, we had the family dinner and opened the presents. The two of us sat on the couch afterwards and watched Star Trek together, our favorite show. Nine years ago I would never have imagined being a single parent now.

I don't think people spend much time planning who their mate will be, or how they will raise and support their children. I know  I didn't. I used to be an utopian idealist 60's-type person. I knew that if I fell in love, it would conquer all and that when I had children they would be as pure as the love that created them. These attitudes that have changed were a product of my time and the family I grew up in.

My parents weren't in love, as I remember. I believe they were like myself and had no plans for marriage or family. Actually my mother had plans, but she forgot to tell the rest of the world, including my Dad. Needless to say, it was not what one might call a family unit.

The only unit was my brother, and I avoided my parents' competition. They would argue, and the arguments would always be the other one's fault. They wanted us to take sides. My brother's side was under the stairs, working on model cars obsessively, and mine was either as the diplomat or in front of the TV.

In front of the TV, I watched the body counts from Vietnam every night and the blood on the faces of the black protesters after they were hit by policemen's club. I heard my Mom's complaints of her failed marriage, and I knew these were not the things that I needed to pass on to the next generation.

Of my generation of friends, I saw only one happy family. My best friend Dave had a set of parents who seemed like the Cleavers. They worked on their house together. The family and anyone else who was around, ate meals together at all the scheduled times. His parents were supportive and loving. The Jennings had respect, trust, caring, understanding, and much more that makes a good marriage and family. I didn't pay much attention to it as a kid, but it meant more to me as I became an adult.

As I became an adult, I found something new, failing in love. When I fell in love with my daughter's mother, I was only looking for love and friendship. I wasn't planning the future that was to come. We were planning marriage when Renee became pregnant. She told me later that she had stopped using birth control hoping to have a child. Needless to say, we did.

We were married August 23rd, 1980, and my daughter was born February 22nd, 1981. The birth was a very moving experience, and my daughter cooed when I bathed her at birth. She seemed to bond to me, and I was the only one who could rock her to sleep when she was an infant.

Renee, my daughter's mother, cared a lot for her, but went through mood swings. She seemed to be suffering from post-partum depression, which was never confirmed. She refused to seek medical help because of a fear of doctors.

I can't be sure of anything, except that Renee's mood swings reached a peak. She wanted the freedom to go away to college out of state and date around. I suggested Akron University and counseling, but that didn't fly.

Since Renee felt that way about family and marriage, she gave me custody of my daughter. There I was, 30 years old and a single parent with a 2-year-old daughter. I was not prepared to be in that position.

My daughter was still in diapers and on the bottle when we moved to our new apartment. The first month was very traumatic. I felt angry that Renee could hurt my daughter so much.

I pitched out the bottles, since they were only used by my daughter to go to sleep. She was eating regular meals and drinking from a tip-it cup, and Montessori did not allow bottles at school anyhow.

My daughter cried herself to sleep for the first week, and then my Mom came up with the idea of playing a cassette tape for her to fall asleep listening to. If I tried reading her a book, she wanted me to stay in her room and would not sleep.

Even though she knew how to use the bathroom, her mom kept her in diapers for accidents. Again, she could not be in diapers at her age at school. So I had to send clean clothes for the next few months to school. What a mess that was. I am a structured person by nature, but I learned a new definition of structure after a month or so. The changes that occurred in my life and behavior were irreversible.

To start, I went from a heavy sleeper to a very light sleeper. If my daughter coughed, rolled over, or just breathed light, I was in her room. After getting such a sound night's sleep, I had to get up at six o'clock to start my day.

Shower, breakfast, and packing lunches got my day rolling. Then we were off to Montessori by 7:30. Poor, my daughter was the first kid at school and the last one to leave.

After work, it was zip over to get my daughter before they tossed her out on the street. Then we went home, where I would get my daughter started on an activity. She was good not to pester me while I threw laundry in the machine and started dinner. While she was putzing with her food, I would start her bath water. With her in the bath, I would leave the door open and talk to her while I cleaned the dishes. We would talk a little about the day before I tucked her into bed. If I had to get anything done at home, 8:30 was my time.

But what had begun, was really my daughter's time. I realized the best belonged to her. I looked at everything that made her life a quality life. Her school, her home life, and the toys I bought were all things that I hoped were quality vs. quantity. I realized that my actions brought her into the world, and so I owed her my best efforts.

I've developed patience. I used to live my life as though there was only one day. You can't do that with a child. At first, when she cried I became upset. Then I learned there were reasons for everything, and I should find them. If my daughter was sad or hurt, I would hold her. If she was hungry and tired, I would feed her and put her to bed. If she was being a brat, I would send her to her room. I learned to reward the positive and discourage the negative. I learned to treat her as a person, a little person without a lot of experience.

The experiences I have received have been the best of my life. Shortly after I received custody of my daughter, I went away on a business trip. When I came home and into the lobby at Cleveland Hopkins airport, my daughter was waiting with my parents. She yelled, "Daddy!" and then she hugged me like a little magnet with her head buried into my neck as we walked. There is no love in the world that can match it.

I remember when she was in a school play for the constitution. Clairedon elementary school had the program, and my daughter sat on the front center of stage were she was in a square dance routine. She practiced and practiced without a fuss, and the day of the program she got up at about 6:00 A.M. to get into her outfit by herself. She did most of it by herself, for herself. I was really proud.

Patience is now in my vocabulary both with my career and at home. Being a parent has taught me that, if nothing else. I used to want answers and change for everything, but change is often slow, and the answers are subjective.

Well Renee and I have tried to resolve things on a number of occasions, but it seemed more futile on each attempt. I enjoy being a parent, and I am quite sorry that my daughter and I can't have more of a family. I feel every child has a better life with a loving mom and dad, and I feel brothers and sisters are just that much better.

Feburary '88

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