For those who asked, here's an excerpt from my draft book, A Homicide Life, about my daughters: We lived in a small, split-foyer brick house in northern Virginia, a few miles outside of DC. Just inside the front door was a 6’ x 6’ landing. To the right, five steps led up to
the living room, to the left, five led down to the family room. At this time, my girls, Kate, Kelly, Megan, Molly & Emma, were ages 1, 3, 5, 7 and 9 (now, they’re 22, 24, 26, 28, 30 - all in what seems like a blink of an eye). Every night, when I arrived home, they would line up
at the top of the steps and jump into my arms, one by one, in surprisingly orderly fashion. The age of the jumper dictated the step from which she would jump: the younger ones would jump from the lower steps, the older from the higher. I wouldn’t say it was a tradition,
but it was one of our little family rituals that I will forever remember and cherish. The older I get, the more I’ve come to realize that it’s the small moments that stick with you. Not the graduations or the weddings or the awards ceremonies. For instance,
when my girls were young, I never went anywhere alone. If I was going grocery shopping, or running to the post office, or just out to put gas in the car, I invariably took one or more of my girls with me. And to be clear, I didn’t do it because I thought it was good parenting.
I did it because, selfishly, I loved spending time with my kids. Plain and simple. It was on one such occasion that something happened that is as meaningful to me as anything that’s ever happened in my life. My oldest daughter, Kate, was about 15 at the time.
We were running some errand or another, and it was just the two of us. Whenever I’d ride with one of my girls in the front seat, I would always put out my hand and they would take it, and we’d hold hands for just a minute or two. Of course, once they hit age 8 or 9,
I felt like they did it just to indulge me. Still . . . Like I said, Kate was about 15, and it seemed like it had been sometime since the two of us had been in the front seat together. I put out my hand, and she took it. We held hands briefly and then I let go.
After a few moments of silence, I said, “Kit, let me ask you something. You’re 15 years old and you’re still ok holding your dad’s hand. Why is that?” She thought for a minute and then said . . . “I like you.” I teared up and thought that
those three words were the most important and meaningful words anyone would ever say to me.
Thanks for reading. At the end of the day, it really is all about the kids. Nothing else endures.
Thanks for reading. At the end of the day, it really is all about the kids. Nothing else endures.
