“To be the father of growing daughters is to understand something of what Yeats evokes with his imperishable phrase ‘terrible beauty.’ Nothing can make one so happily exhilarated or so frightened: it’s a solid lesson in the limitations of self to realize that your heart is running around inside someone else’s body.
It also makes me quite astonishingly calm at the thought of death: I know whom I would die to protect and I also understand that nobody but a lugubrious serf can possibly wish for a father who never goes away.”
“You fathers will understand. You have a little girl. She looks up to you. You’re her oracle. You’re her hero. And then the day comes when she gets her first permanent wave and goes to her first real party, and from that day on, you’re in a constant state of panic.”
If you fully understood just how profoundly you can influence your daughter’s life, you would be terrified, overwhelmed, or both.
It was my father who taught me to value myself. He told me that I was uncommonly beautiful and that I was the most precious thing in his life.
But just past that polite, absentminded demeanor was a bold, creative, insightful mind, and people who spoke to him for even a few minutes walked away knowing they had encountered something extraordinary. If you had to choose one guy to lead you off a cliff with his crazy idea, my father was that guy.