Happy Birthday Daddy October 2008

Susan’s Thoughts and Discoveries
(Or) Happy Birthday Daddy
October 2, 2008

I have been feeling old. At 36. My brain knows this is likely silly, but the knowing doesn’t help the feeling. I wanted to reread a lovely essay Updike wrote earlier this year called “The Full Glass .” The story is about a man approaching eighty who reflects on the pleasure of small things. It is a lovely, small story, with beautiful images exquisitely rendered. There is one in particular in which he compared the stillness of his wife sleeping to the glassy stillness of a deep spring well, and his inability to sleep to the water-glider skirting across that glassy stillness. The old man is no monument to morality, and he freely admits this, which is why he hesitates to look inside himself too deeply. If the character isn’t quite lovely, the story is, and it is an excellent reflection of how age can make you a stranger to yourself. It also redeems the value of small inconsequential pleasures, for in the end the value of a cool drink of water is immeasurable. I really find something in this story, and I wanted to read it again.

I recalled I had placed a link to the article in an email I sent my dad, and found the email. My dad had replied that he had, of course, already read the essay, and that he agreed it was lovely and that it reminded him of James Leigh Hunt’s poem about Jenny. All I could remember about the poem was that “Jenny kissed me”, so I looked it up.
Jenny Kissed Me
Jenny kiss'd me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have miss'd me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny kiss'd me .
James Leigh Hunt

I found it on the Rice University Website. It is a lovely poem that resonates, and I think I underestimated it the first few times I read it. I read the critique; the poem is “perfectly trochaic.” The reviewer, EB, points out, “The simple, unaffected lyrics hide the construction somewhat, and that is how it should be.” Like the story by Updike, the poem is more than it seems to be.

I began reading the comments . I was touched by this one, made by Pky Zztar;
I remember reading this poem in high school (40 years ago) and thinking
to myself "One day I'll have a daughter, and I'll name her Jenny." I
married a girl I first met in kindergarten, and 3 years later she gave
birth to our first child, Jennifer Ann... "Jenny".

I'll never forget the first time I saw her, the nurses pushed my wife's
hospital bed down the hallway toward me, and as we met, my wife reached
up and pulled down the sheet that covered her. In the embrace of her arm
lay our first child, our beautiful little girl. My feet could hardly
reach the floor! Her beauty was simply radiant. I leaned down and kissed
my wife and then my daughter. I lightly put my cheek against her lips,
and received my first of many kisses from this angel. I recited the poem
"Jenny Kissed Me" to her, and then watched as the nurses took them on to
their room.

That was 33 years ago, and she is still the light of my life. Is it any
surprise that this is my favorite poem?

Thinking about feeling old, and thinking about my dad, and how if I feel old, how must he feel? Coming across this, a father’s love for his daughter, knowing my father feels this way for me (most days), made tears well up. How could it not bring forth such a surge of emotion? As a parent, I finally understand how much my father loves me. A parent’s love is a great bottomless depth of joy and despair, of fear and euphoria. It is rarely the calm sea of quiet pleasure, the safe sailing a good marriage can become. It is plagued by wanting. You want to know your child is happy, and as one can never truly know another, there is always that lack of knowing that creates the want – like the unquenchable thirst. What more can I do to make her happy? But unlike a lover, whom you can directly affect with your actions, you cannot do more than wish for your daughter to be content, you cannot do more than hope for her happiness.

So I kept reading, thinking of my father, thinking of my own child, and thinking of love.
There was a man who read this poem on the wall of a bus, and it has been his favorite ever since. Another person commented on the staying power of the poem, how it resonates. Yet another spoke of the message of love defeating all.
And I came across this, posted by jalleva;
I am writing a biography of my father for his 80th
birthday party and I wanted to include some of his favorite sayings and
poems. Even though he's recited this poem to me a million times, I wanted to
get the wording perfect and I stumbled on this web site. I love this
poem--it will always remind me of the special place I have in my dad's
heart! Jennifer (Jenny) A.

An impossible and lovely coincidence? A message meant just for me? Has anyone else noticed? This must be father and daughter. I wonder if they even know that they have posted on the same website? Not just posted on the same website, but posted about each other. The daughter knows how the poem has always been a symbol between them. It has served as the way the father can express the inexpressible to his daughter. This is how much I love you.

I think of the father’s joy, of finally having at least that much knowledge – to know that she knows. She knows. She knows how much he loves her! A father thinks, if only she knew how much I love her …. If only I could love her enough to make her happy! If only she knew – and she does! She knows! And it does, it does make her happy! This is the father’s full glass isn’t it? This is the largest of the small pleasures.

It made me happy to read this unknown correspondence between people who were strangers to me. I wonder if it is a ruse to make the site more interesting? But, no, it couldn’t be, it is much too subtle. Today I am lucky rather than old. Or perhaps, rather than lucky, I am mature? No, I am both. Lucky and mature. I was lucky to find such a sweet and touching connection. I am mature because I realize the joy of small things. Of things like unexpected discoveries. It is nice to think of myself as mature, for it is not a word often used to describe me. Perhaps that is maturity? If I am mature, at least today, perhaps that will extend to my father a bit of peace. Today, dad, I not only know how much you love me, and know how much poetry can mean, but I am also mature. Not old. Mature. Writing this, thinking of you, knowing you love me, feeling mature … is as refreshing to me as a cool spring on a hot day. Today this is my full glass.

I love you Daddy. My love and appreciation for you grow more boundless each year. The longer I know you, the more I love you. Happy Birthday.
Susie