A note to readers: Your reception and interest and responses are very gratifying. Thank you. For those who do not read German, never fear. Where appearing, there is also sufficient in English to give you the gist of the comment as had you read and understood it. My own experience has been that broad exposure to many cultures and art forms has deepened my appreciation for life and the people with whom we all share this incredible journey.
Chapter 6: Into The Valley of Tribulation
It was also a time of more intense interaction than I had ever imagined could be.
She signed up for an American Literature class as well, another step in her increasingly serious study of English and America, and towards a university degree she was beginning to see as something she not only wanted but now could see her way clear to actually accomplish. Her excitement was endemic, and she bubbled and danced about like a school girl… in other words, she was beautifully engaged and delightful to be with.
The interaction on new topics had started, and on that Thursday afternoon, the first week of classes, took a major stride forward. She was quiet and thoughtful after her Lit 101 class and we drove a ways out of town to a little Chinese place we had found and enjoyed Tuesday evening. Finally, she pushed her plate aside for a moment and took a paper napkin and folded it into a little place marker for me and wrote on it in bold letters: "Dad." With a solemn little gesture she placed it in front of my plate, as if marking my place at a conference or a convention or something.
This was a game, yet not a game. I quickly sensed that she was trying to be light-hearted, but at the same time was very serious about something on her mind, and needed to talk to her father.
"Yes," I responded, in a little deeper tone and trying to accommodate her need, "my darling daughter, what is on your mind. I will be happy to listen and try to help where I can." From my own experience I knew there was, as a father, a time to talk and a time to listen. Usually much more of the latter was needed, and as little of the first as possible.
That I had read her correctly was immediately evident in her pretty face and she relaxed somewhat with me. Slowly, she started an explanation that seemed to meander and sidestep the main point, telling me about her class and the other young people in it and the prof and the readings, etc. Then, probably gaining confidence in our situation, she began to tell me about him, a tall, sandy haired boy in her class, and how nice he was and handsome, and all that. Then she stopped, stuck.
In the past I had jumped in and attempted to pick up the conversation with my daughter. It had been a mistake then, and would have been a mistake now. This time I was alert and wise enough to let the silence drag out until she found words to say it.
"He asked me for a date for tomorrow evening to a movie… Father." Her words came to me like an electric shock, even though I should have anticipated them sooner or later. Trying hard to listen and not over react, I now sensed, too, in her adding "Father" to the end, as sort of an afterthought, that she was having to work at keeping her thinking focused clearly.
"And," she began again, her voice trembling a little, "I have no idea what I should do." I was watching her closely and she looked up at me briefly, those big brown eyes full of doubt and anxiety and confusion, hoping she could trust in me to help her.
She was a beautiful, bright, blossoming flower, and with no pertinent experience whatever with boys and men, social or otherwise, as innocent as a babe in the woods, and in a foreign culture. Little wonder that she was uncertain and afraid. On top of that, the easy going sociability in the typical junior college classroom of western American youth could very well and probably had already triggered the flow of hormones in her that added to the confusion and perhaps even scared her.
And, I though to myself again, I had thought I had a hot potato before. I was in up to my eyeballs here for sure, and there were suddenly alligators in the swamp at every hand.
"Thank you, Christine, for trusting me to help. I will try my very best." No speeches here, I told myself, but clear thinking and careful coaxing to make for herself the best decisions she could.
"The very first thing to concern yourself with is what you want and desire for yourself. That decision will help guide you in all that follows."
She looked at me intently, then nodded her head in understanding, and waited.
"Only your decision matters. You may gather information and ideas from others, but ultimately you are responsible for you."
"What kind of a person do you want to be and become. You are a girl, a young woman… well on your way to becoming a mature lady. You have already, to some degree, decided what kind of lady you are to become. I have seen it in your manner with me and others, and I admire and respect your decisions very much." That was no idle complement either.
"Then, remember, too, that you owe him nothing at all other than being yourself, a self-respecting lady, honest with yourself and him.
"You have options. You always have options."
Now what? She was waiting.
"Perhaps you see in him a pleasant, interesting, thoughtful, intelligent young man with whom you would enjoy sharing some time and adventure. Wonderful.
"It is entirely proper that you ask what his plans are, to what events or activities is he inviting you to accompany him? A gentleman with manners and appreciation for a lady will be happy to tell her and even to ask her ideas and thoughts on the matter.
"Then you decide how you want to respond.
"Should the activities not be appealing to you, or his manner or attitude make you feel at all unsafe with him, you may simply decline politely with a friendly smile. A lady might say simply, ‘Thank you for the invitation. Perhaps another time.' A courteous fellow will accept that and probably come back and ask you another time later.
