I had empathy for this man (who was obviously the dad of a college freshman) as he stood
across the aisle from me, because in his quest to find the right tool to adjust to a new chapter in life, I saw the familiar angst of parental transitions.
He was so earnest in his pursuit, yet was so quickly rebuked, that I felt compelled to pen the following to his daughter, as an ode to him and to my fellow parents.
A letter to the girl I saw in the store and all of her friends
Dear Girl in Target,
You stood out to me among the hundreds of college dorm shoppers today. I spoke to you in
the silence of my mind, because actually approaching you would shatter societal propriety.
Hence, this missive, to you, and to your peers launching their way into the world, away from
home.
I wish you could have seen your father with his heart beating outside his chest as he studied the tool aisle. I wish you had understood that his selection of the right kit was his way of equipping you for the future, literally and figuratively. I wish you knew that he is struggling with the reality of your leaving home, and him.
Your eyeroll spoke volumes
Yet, when you rounded the aisle and he held up his token of love for you, your eyeroll spoke
volumes. That gesture in itself sufficiently conveyed your annoyance. But then you blurted
out to shame him, “I don’t need a toolkit! When have you ever seen me repair anything?
Why would I start now?”
Dear Girl in Target, you shall start now, because what you don’t realize is that while you were busy being a kid, your dad has been repairing things for you, sight unseen, all your life. It didn’t happen magically.
He fixed things for you from the day you were born, because this is how parents feather
their nests. They protect you, nourish you, and keep you safe. Now, he knows, you must do all these things on your own, as you take flight from under his wing.
So, next time, please hug your dad and accept the gift he offers you. I guarantee when he drives off campus, you’ll find tools are indeed, by definition, useful.
Please accept the toolkit your dad offers you
And if the toolkit remains unopened, consider yourself lucky that the world has been laid
out for you so flawlessly.
Then, look upon the gift as the grand gesture for which it was intended. The kind only a loving father can offer his daughter, as he braces for the pain of the inevitability of your absence.
Most of all, be grateful. For the moment your dad stops repairing things for you, and you
begin fixing things for yourself, rest assured his work is done.
And yours has just begun.
Sincerely,
Your Fellow Shopper
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