She grabbed her black cello case – that’s as tall as she is – and slung it over her shoulder. I walked a step or two ahead of her as we made our way to the car. When I pick her up from school she has a queue of stories to tell me about her day. But in the mornings she doesn’t say much, and I understand because I’m the same way.

Most nights I work or read well into the early morning hours. My mind seldom begins working before 10 am so getting up at 6 am to see my daughter off to orchestra practice means I’m still a bit groggy.

I toss out a number of breakfast options and let Luca decide what to eat now and what to take for lunch. Today I learned two bread ends make for a good sandwich but only if the crust side is turned inwards. I also learned that chili is not a breakfast option.

The hour we have together goes by quickly. There’s homework to tuck into folders which slips into binders that eventually makes its way into a backpack of a specific color. Four backpacks for four children made of four colors, and I’m still confused a month into the new school year.

With a few minutes to spare, we arrive at the bus stop where Luca reminds me which side of the road to park on.  A light rain begins to fall. This is the time of year when the sun hibernates for months. It’s the dark and dreary stretch of Seattle weather locals tell outsiders about to keep them from moving here.

The bus makes its ways around the bend and stops a few feet from the car. As Luca makes her way out of the car, she leans towards me long enough that I can kiss her forehead but not so long that her fellow bus riders would notice.

When I returned home, I sat in the car in the driveway for a few minutes thinking about how no matter what else I accomplished today, nothing will be as important as the hour I spent with my daughter.

I accompanied my oldest daughter, Luca, to an open house for students who joined orchestra. She met her instructor and fellow students, but was most excited to see her friend, Taylor. Beginning next Tuesday she will board a bus bound for the middle school where she will learn to play the cello.

Not long ago she would have pulled her chair right up next to mine and sat as close to me as possible. But tonight I was there to take notes and find out when the bus would pick her up. Yes, she reminded me of that as we drove to the school.

Her best friend, who will also play the cello, was there to provide any support she needed. Sometimes I forget that she’s ten years old, not five. She’s making her own friends and forming opinions. She asks me as many questions as I ask her. It’s a two-way street.

I’m thrilled and proud to see her grow into a young woman. But there’s a part of me that yearns for the days when I was the center of her universe. My influence that was once great has been greatly diminished, and there are times when I feel she’d rather hang out with anyone but me.

After taking plenty of notes, we left the school and headed to our favorite teriyaki joint. It’s one of those anonymous holes-in-the-wall where it appears one person is doing the work of four. An older gentleman with limited English skills took our order while filling glasses with ice water and speaking on the phone.

We retreated to a booth to wait for our food.

“What is the best age for a person to get their first cell phone?” Luca asked.

“I don’t know. What do you think?” I replied.

“Maybe a few months before their 11th birthday.”

“Wouldn’t that be right around Christmas for you?”

“Exactly.”

It’s not the growing up part that concerns me. I mean, that’s how life works. It’s the fact that each day my influence on her is less pronounced. Which in many ways, it a good thing because I’m certain my influence hasn’t always been a positive. I hope the good has outweighed the bad because there’s not a lot of time left for major changes.

As we finished our meal, I sat across the table and smiled as she used my iPhone to send text messages. Such moments without the distractions of siblings are rare, and they seldom last more than a few minutes.

A couple of fortune cookies arrived with our check. Luca cracked open her cookie and read her fortune.

“Dad, what does yours say?”

I unfolded my fortune, and read it to myself. Then I folded it back up, and placed it in my wallet.

“It says eighteen is the ideal age for your first cell phone.”

“That was a looooong day! I thought it would never end.”

That was Anna’s reply to my question about how her first day at school went. So when I unlocked the car door and watched her place her backpack on the seat as slowly as possible, I knew she didn’t expect anything different for day two.

She didn’t say a word as we made our way to Luca’s bus stop. I wonder what Anna must think when she sees that Luca can’t wait to get to class.

On the return trip, and with her older school-loving sister gone, I hoped Anna would talk to me. But when I looked in the rearview mirror, all I could see were two knees pulled up into her chest. Her head faced the window.

Part of me wanted to tell her that her teacher will be happy to see her. Or that she’ll see familiar faces and make new friends this year. But I know Anna, and I know this tactic will backfire. She’ll curl up into a tighter ball where all I can see are the blue soles of her tennis shoes.

We were a few minutes early so I pulled around the corner from her bus stop and into our driveway.

“I need to say goodbye to mom.”

And with those words, she jumped out of the car and ran up the stairs to mom. I decided to stay in the car. The thought of dragging my teary-eyed daughter into class crossed my mind. What will mom tell her that I couldn’t?

Minutes later, Anna ran back down the stairs and got back in the car.

“Did you tell mom goodbye?”

“Yep, and she gave me a hug.”

I guess words were not what she needed to hear.

A friend told me this summer has one of the best for him. He’s carved out time with his children and his spouse, and he’s made fitness a priority by spending weekday mornings at the gym. He even started a book club.

I began to reflect on his words tonight. What had I accomplished this summer? Could I say, as he did, that it was one of the best?

A year ago I was in a precarious spot at work. So much so that I spoke with an attorney who told me to find another job as soon as possible. It would take me a few more months to comprehend the level of corruption taking place. When I finally understood, it was too late and our entire division imploded.

Yet, when I look back, I knew it was coming and was preparing myself for that day. So when it arrived, I had Ox to fall back on. That’s resulted in a summer unlike any other for our family. My kids still aren’t sure what to make of their father working from home.

Yet it’s been a blessing. I enjoy the chats with my daughter to and from piano lessons. I had time to show my son how to solve the Rubik’s Cube and then watched as he taught himself every cube I could find including the 7x7x7. And we’ve shot baskets together and kicked a lot of soccer balls around the neighborhood.

“When are you going to get a real job?” and similar questions haven’t stopped but they have slowed down to a few a week. It’s been as much an adjustment for them as it has for me, and they don’t always understand why I need to join a conference call instead of watch an episode of Johnny Test with them.

On tonight’s episode of Breaking Bad, the main character, Walter White, takes a brand new Dodge Challenger for a joy ride through an empty parking lot. With smoke streaming from the car’s tires, Walt grips the wheel and performs donut after donut with a massive grin on his face.

And I suppose that’s how I feel about this summer. I never made it out of the parking lot but I had fun nonetheless. I should have exercised more often than I did. I should have kept a regular schedule instead of working through the night a few times. I could have completed more projects around the house.

But this summer I erred on the side of spending time with my family. Far too many times I’ve put a company, a boss or a project ahead of them. I realize that’s not always avoidable, but it’s not something I’ve balanced well throughout my career.

Last night Kim and I took the kids to the park to play tennis. For nearly two hours we hit the ball back and forth. Balls careened around the court. Many sailed over the fence. A few were returned back over the net, but it didn’t matter. I had the drag the kids off the court because it was late and their parents were exhausted.

The activities we did this summer we did together, be it tennis, swimming, shooting baskets or picking blueberries.

That’s what I’ll remember about this summer. Yes, it’s been one of the best.

I drove over 2600 miles on our vacation to Utah. Much of that time was spent chatting with Kim, answering the kid’s goofy questions or breaking up arguments.

The iPad turned out to be a hit with Kai, and the ten bucks spent on season two of Scooby Doo was a genius move on my part. Except the kids wanted my iPad instead of Kim’s so I’ll be moving the cartoons over to her iPad before the next trip.

I prefer to drive through the night when my body and mind feel most alive. Reminds me of the first time I drove from Seattle to St. George to see Kim whom I’d only met briefly in Vegas a month or so earlier. I’d flick Oasis CD in the tuner, turn up Champagne Supernova as loud as possible and feel the wind rush through my fingers as I extended my arm through the moon roof.

The song starts with mellow guitar, builds into a frenzy and then settles back down. It was perfect song to keep me awake during the early morning hours. I still love this lyric:

The world’s still spinning around we don’t know why
Why-why-why-why?

This latest trip to Utah was just like those cool nights of years past except I was piloting a minivan instead of a German engineered sedan. And I was acting chauffeur for five passengers whose music tastes run wide of Oasis or any other rock band.

I didn’t have many long stretches of time to contemplate, and maybe that’s for the best because I feel as though I’m failing in number of areas. Maybe I’m not failing, but I’m not living up to my own expectations which is all that matters.

At best, I’m coasting through segments of life I should be doing everything I can to slow down, learn from and write down so I don’t forget.

I could list them here for you, but that would not accomplish anything.

But if I’d rather sit at my computer with my headphones on, ignoring my oldest daughter’s pleas to tuck her into bed then something is messed up and it’s not my daughter. I don’t think I could have been any more checked out than I was today.

Or this week. Or longer, but I’ll stop there.

I should have put a disclaimer at the beginning of this post that it would not include anything of significant value to anyone but me.

But maybe, this can be my stake in the ground that tomorrow I will be a more involved father than I was today.

24.

That’s the number I pulled from the “Please take a number” dispenser at the auto licensing agency. I took a seat and motioned for Luca to sit next to me while we waited for our number to be called.

I need car tabs. The department of licensing website is a maze of confusion, and I wasn’t clear on exactly what paperwork was required.

So I called the licensing agency first thing this morning and got lost in phone tree hell. Pressing zero to talk to someone hung up on me the first two times. I called back and was told call volumes were too high to remain on hold and to call back later. Lovely service.

This afternoon I finally got through to a woman after waiting on hold for 20 minutes. To say she wasn’t thrilled to to speak to me would be an understatement.  I asked her to list everything I needed to bring with me to the licensing agency. She rattled off the items while I took detailed notes. When I asked if I could read my list back to her I swear I heard her eyes roll.

I organized my paperwork. I was good to go!

Or so I thought as my number was called and I approached the counter to pickup my new tabs. The young women glanced over my paperwork and began shaking her head almost immediately.

“I called ahead to make sure I was prepared. Am I missing something?”

She didn’t answer. Instead she pulled a skinny piece of pink paper from the drawer and began jotting down a list of items and signatures I was missing.

She didn’t say a word, nor did she look at me. I wanted to slam my hand on the counter and say, “Hey, can you acknowledge I’m here or is that too much for you?”

I left without new tabs after spending my morning dealing with people who treated me worse than the skin heads that enjoyed hassling me when I served as a missionary in Germany. At least they would look at me before spitting on my name tag.

Luca sat in the back of the car playing her Nintendo while I drove without saying much. I was frustrated as I pulled into Taco Time. Luca asked if we could go inside. I had no desire to speak to anyone, but thought it would be a good idea to settle down before heading home.

I ordered lunch for us that included cinnamon Crustos which Luca loves, especially when she doesn’t have to share with her siblings. We sat across from each other at the table while we waited for our food.

Of course, when our food arrived they’d given us a beef instead of bean burrito which is the main reason Luca chose Taco Time. I immediately began making a mental list of everything that had gone wrong today. All the calls and waiting in line to be treated like crap. I felt as though I’d wasted my day and should head home and try again tomorrow. Nothing was working.

That’s when Luca said, “I’ll go order me a bean burrito. It’s not a big deal”.

 And she did and returned to her seat across from me where she sat on her knees and leaned towards the table. She told me she loved having her grandparents in town. She asked when we would leave for our vacation to Utah and how long we’d stay. She told me how she’d learned to swim and couldn’t wait to show me. She usually asks me what my worst favorite color is but she didn’t, and it’s a good thing because I never know how to answer that question.

In less than two minutes my day changed.

How many fathers had lunch with their daughter or son today and learned a little more about what makes them tick? If that’s all I was able to do then in no way was today a failure.

I like to say that I see a lot of myself in her, but that’s not entirely true.

Today I saw in my daughter something I’m still trying to gain.

When I attend church, I’m reminded of all the times I come up short in my responsibilities as a church member, husband and father. There are times in my life where work, family and religion live together in harmony.

That’s not how it’s felt lately.

Pick two, any two and I’m within my comfort zone. But add one more and I sputter, veer off the road and crash into a pile of expectations.

I sat at my computer this afternoon doing a little of everything except being productive. I was aware that Luca was sitting at the computer behind me, but paid her little attention. Her brother and sister were off having fun running through the water, but Luca didn’t want to wear a swimming suit until it was too late.

“This is my time to chat with Luca”, I told myself. She’d been at the beach with her grandparents for the past week.

Then again, maybe I should let her cool down. She doesn’t look happy. I’ll wait till she looks like she wants to talk. Yep, I’ll keep waiting.

And so I waited.

And waited some more before my mind drifted off to some part of the web I wouldn’t remember thirty seconds after closing my browser.

That’s when I noticed Luca pushing her chair towards mine. What does she want? Probably to fetch her favorite snack: refried beans and tortilla chips. Or maybe she wants to borrow my iPad. Or beg me to play Sorry or Apple to Apple with her.

But I was wrong.

Luca scooted her chair next to mine then leaned over and put her head on my shoulder without saying a word.

It shouldn’t take my daughter’s affection to snap me out of a funk. These concerns of mine won’t matter a week or even a day from now.

All those imperfections I see in myself don’t matter to her. She sees a shoulder to lean on when things aren’t going her way.

I’m glad I was wrong.