"Thanks, dad. Thanks for listening. I always knew I could
come to you."

Last month a strange and not entirely unexpected guest made
his way into my life.

"Sixty" sauntered in, quite confident of his admittance I
might add, caring little how I felt.

Being sixty can mean...

Briskly heading toward the men's room quicker than I might
choose,

Staring in disbelief at the "fright night like" creature
squinting back at me from the torture chamber (my mirror)
while remembering the kid wearing a swimsuit who stopped
the clock soon enough to place second in state,

Wondering if the time ever existed when I didn't need to see
*someone* related to *something* about an obscure (or not so
obscure) part of my physical being,

And being grateful for hearing a set of words similar to the
ones you read during the last sixty seconds:

"Thanks, dad.
Thanks for listening.
I always knew I could come to you."

My friend and father of one or more daughters: I beg you.

I beg you...

Please, please read the following statement carefully,
thoughtfully and if so inclined prayerfully:

You may be sad for good advice not received,
but make every effort -- every effort --
not to fail at listening to your daughter

Tears come in many shapes and sizes, but few carry more
emotional weight than tears of regret.

Strive to lessen your tears of regret and increase the
future possibility of expressing tears of joy for the hours,
days and years of careful listening to the daughter of your
youth.

Listen when she's down -- no matter how long it takes.

Listen when she wants to build a snow tunnel, take a walk,
go to the zoo, watch her routine for the color guard, listen
as she plays the flute, and pick her up when she's scared.

Listen when life treats her well. Share the joys, freakish
highs, and every level of joyful emotion in between.

Listen to the story of her life in grade three because you
want her to tell you a whole lot more when she's twenty-
three, thirty-three and forty-three.

Listen when she feels unlovely. Take just enough time to
let her know in no uncertain terms how lovely she is to you.

Listen when the guy's been a jerk, and don't jerk her
bruised emotional chain while she's down. Care, listen, and
care some more.

Listen when she needs you to listen more than you need your
emotional space.

Listen when she questions your standards, beliefs, judgment
and even your love. Listen and pray -- like a drowning man
in turbulent waters -- because of your need to carefully
respond instead of carelessly react.

Listen when she needs a friend more than a father.

Listen when she says "I'm sorry." Listen and forgive. Be a
man of grace as opposed to a man with a large set of rules
and a small heart.

Listen when an emergency apparatus is needed which she
anticipates using with great regularity. When you hear,
"Dad, can you go to the store for me?" ... just go. Yes,
even when you find yourself trying to discover a box "with
wings."

Listen when she wants you to hold her hand while walking
down the street. Listen, because life will seem unusually
short when she takes your arm to meet another special,
younger man at the end of a very long aisle. And should
she request to play "Butterfly Kisses," prepare by playing
it in advance, dad. Believe me, you'll need the prep
time.

Listen when you answer the phone and she asks: "Dad, can I
talk to mom?" Don't hesitate. Get mom. Let her know you
respect her need to "talk girl talk." Get this, dad: a
girl's heart comes super sized for life. Her heart can
handle more than one person in its chambers.

Listen when you hear the sounds of love she expresses to her
own child, when life spits out more pain than she
anticipated at age sixteen, and when she asks for your
prayers.

Listen.
Care.
Love.
And listen some more.

Listen till you hear...

"Thanks, dad.
Thanks for listening.
I always knew I could come to you."

You will not regret it. I promise you.
You will not regret paying the price to hear those words.