an avery day occurrence

suddenly the world seems such a perfect place
suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace
suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste
it all revolves around you
and there's no mountain too high
no river too wide
sing out this song and i'll be there by your side
storm clouds may gather
and stars may collide
but i'll love you until the end of time

come what may
come what may
i will love you
until my dying day

-- come what may, moulin rouge

* * * * *

i used to sing that song to my daughter on the way to day care.

i couldn't hit the high notes, but she didn't seem to notice. it was a heartfelt serenade, and sometimes i'd get a little choked up on the "until the end of time" and "until my dying day" lines.

she didn't seem to notice that, either.

last night was the annual dance recital for roseanne's dance academy. our third performance, hard as it is to believe. it feels like i've seen the four year olds perform "hopping bunnies" a thousand times -- a thought i shared with mrs. spaceneedl. "be nice," she warned me with a smile. she couldn't fool me. she'll have the infernal "hopping bunnies" chorus ringing in her ears for at least the rest of the weekend.

earlier in the day, the girl's drama club put on a performance of "the great kapok tree." it's the story of a hapless logger who runs afoul of an angry hoarde of animals in the amazon rainforest.

not to spoil the ending or anything, but the animals win.

and it occurred to me about halfway through the show that my daughter was up on stage, delivering lines in front of a crowd of people.

this is the same girl (albeit a later version) who came into the world refusing to breathe. it had something to do with the respiratory depressive effects of the stadol mrs. spaceneedl was given.

i stood there stupidly as our daughter was whisked away, and the nurse anxiously said, "breathe, baby!" time stopped, and we cried, and then the baby cried, and we had a little come-apart as it dawned on us the magnitude of the disaster that had just passed us by.

flash forward several years to last night, and the girl was the best jazz dancer on the stage. she was one of the very few who looked like she was having fun up there. she moved with grace and confidence and no, i'm not just saying that because she's my kid.

full disclosure: i may have been suffering from some kind of paternal myopia. as far as i could tell, she was the only one on the stage.

after, she sat with us holding a very nice bouquet of flowers, raptly watching the older girls performing longer, more intricate routines. it occurred to me that she'd prolly outdance them, too. not that i'm biased.

then "come what may" began drifting out of the speakers, and i became a bit of a mess. time and place and emotions got all cross-circuited, and i was obliged to keep myself together. thankfully, it was dark in the auditorium.

this morning, it's father's day, and i woke up to see a handmade card on my nightstand. "happy fathers day i love you" it said. "love, avery."

i have, over the years, occasionally asked my wife to explain why it was so necessary for us to have children. the question usually coincides with high-pitched shrieking, or egregious room-trashing, or dumping of hot chocolate in the back of the car. or other random childish behavior.

today is not one of those days.*

(* note: the day isn't over yet.)