Sleep in heavenly peace

My 9-year-old daughter asked me the other day, “Daddy, what’s your favorite Christmas carol?”

“Oh, Chloe, that’s easy,” I said and paused, fighting back unexpected tears. ... “It’s Silent Night.”

“Why?”

Here’s what I told her and my 11-year-old, Sophie, and my beautiful and caring fiancée, Dina:

It was back in about 2002. I was married to your mom back then, but it was before both of you were born. We went to Midnight Mass at St. Stanislaus in Slavic Village in Cleveland. You've been there.

St. Stanislaus is basically a cathedral. People visit it as a historic sight. I knew if I ever got married in the Catholic Church, it should be in St. Stanislaus. … And I did.

My cousin Jen and her husband Peter were married there, and mommy and I were married there. We both had Father Mike marry us. He seems different than a lot of priests I’ve met. He’s modern; he’s a Facebook friend. He posts Facebook things I like.

At Midnight mass, I think we had a group of people there. I forget exactly who was there, but I know that Grandma and Grandpa were there, for sure. At the homily, the part where the priest talks, Father Mike said a few words about the importance of family and God, and then he tried something different. He said, “Let’s sing Silent Night.”

He led Silent Night in a different way. He said, “Let’s start with only the men singing, then only the women, then the children.” We practiced a bit, and then we sang the song, and he was leading each group to a different part. 

The men:

Silent Night

Holy Night

All is calm

All is bright

The women:

Round yon virgin

Mother and child

Holy infant so tender and mild

The children:

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

I didn’t expect to react this way, but when it got to the children, the pitch was so high that tears fell out of my eyes. The women’s pitch was extremely high, but the children’s pitch was even more so as it reverberated through St. Stanislaus. I was slightly embarrassed with my crying.

As I was trying to hide my tears and not make a scene, I looked at Grandpa, who was full on sobbing — big time. Oh, he was letting it out. He chuckled between the tears when he was saw me looking at him. We reached across the pew, hugged each other and sobbed together.

Sorry, Chloe. Sorry, Sophie. Sorry, Dina. Yes, maybe it would have just sufficed to say, “My favorite Christmas carol is Silent Night.” Maybe I should have left it at that….

As the years pass, I think I’ve gotten Grandpa’s gene for becoming overly emotional at ceremonies and seemingly random times. I guess that happens. As the years pass, I realize that the time I had with him was worth it, and I wouldn’t change it. I’ll cry if I want. My tears are drops of love for him.

This all reminds me of C.S. Lewis quote I read the other day: “Love anything, and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. … To love is to be vulnerable.”

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Divorced dads: Often misunderstood

I sometimes say this to my students when the subject of love comes up: "There are many types of love. There is romantic love, love for your parents, self-love, love of friends, brotherly love and appropriate love a teacher has for a student."

I then give an odd look to a student. Once a kid said, "Y'know when you say appropriate love for a student — that sounds inappropriate."

Probably right. "A" for you, boy wonder!

Today, as we kick off December and I mentally enter the Christmas season, I want to talk about the love a parent has for his children. More specifically, I want to talk about the love divorced dads have for their daughters.

Divorce, divorce, divorce, divorce.

I normally stay clear of that subject in the Snooze Button Generation (TM) blog because I think people see divorce as a negative thing. But is it really?

Perhaps Louis C.K. said it best when he said, "Some day, one of your friends is going to get divorced. Don't go, 'Oh, I'm sorry.' That's a stupid thing to say. No good marriage has ever ended in divorce. If your friend got divorced, it means things were bad. And now, they're better."

I also would argue the idea of "staying together for the kids" doesn't help anyone. That models misery or fakeness or useless fighting, and why would we want to model that for our kids?

But, today, I'm not tackling divorce in general and many people's misconception of the D-word. Rather, I'm looking at divorced dads and daughters.

Divorced dads. Man, we have it hard. First of all, the courts are stacked against us. There have been so many deadbeat dads that the courts favor heavily for the woman. I consider myself fortunate that I obtained 50/50 visitation/custody of my girls without much deliberation. Thank God!

That's not always the case, and if a woman lawyers up, the guy can get screwed big time. That happens to countless divorced dads including Alec Baldwin, who wrote about that in his book "A Promise to Ourselves."

Divorced dads are stereotyped for many different things, and I've been stereotyped many times because I'm divorced. I've been stereotyped as a guy just looking for a young, hot thing, and while I certainly had an awkward dating phase post-divorce, that's not a fair assumption of divorced dads.

For some teachers of my daughters, I've been treated as "The Second Parent," and that also is not fair. Luckily, I have ran into some key supportive teachers of my daughters and me, and I appreciate them.

But when you have daughters and you're a dad, it can feel like being "The Second Parent" because, well, I have heard that girls and moms actually are the same gender. Being a dad of two girls makes me realize that I am indeed a masculine fellow.

Sophie prefers art and music while I lean toward sports, and I've been trying my best to bond with her through her activities. That's not always that easy. Looking back, I've spent the past decade doing way more arts and crafts than I thought I'd ever do.

But here's why this blog comes out now. It could be a difficult holiday season for me because even though I do have 50/50 visitation, the schedule falls heavily for the girls with mom this year. It is a fair schedule, and I know I will have the schedule fall heavily for me next year. But it's still not easy to go through this.

The way the schedule accidentally works is that the girls were with mom for all of Thanksgiving week. They'll also be with mom for Christmas, although I have them for New Year's. Plus, we do alternate weekends, so I have them on less weekends than normal during this holiday season. For god's sakes, I miss my kids!

A father's love for a daughter runs deep. Having daughters has been a game-changer for me. I grew up in a male-dominated family, never had a sister. I understand girls, and women, more than I ever have, and it's because of these two entities.

This girl, Chloe — she just might be a daddy's girl. But she's so unique. She's probably a mommy's girl, too. She's everybody's girl and seems to know everyone. We just ran into a girl at Target yesterday, who ran up to her reaching for a hug and yelling, "Chloe!!!" (That girl wasn't even in Chloe's class.)

I love Sophie and Chloe, unconditionally. I hope they feel the depth of this love from me, but if either one doesn't feel it today, well, I certainly feel it and maybe they will one day — probably a common statement/feeling from divorced dads (and maybe even parents).

I also must say I relate to Chris Martin, singer of Coldplay, who wrote the song "Magic" about spending time with his daughter, Apple, as he went through his divorce with Gwyneth Paltrow. Many times, for us divorced dads, just spending time with our daughters puts everything in perspective.