My Favorite Daughter
The images are real but time blurs things. It ain’t tears. I credit Stewart with these photos. They came via message from Jules. So it’s possible they are not, but that’s my story. I’ve told you the joke about favorite daughters. It bears repeating. I would always ask my patients if the daughter that accompanied them was their favorite. And the answer was usually, “They are all my favorite.” Once in a while someone would say, “Yes.” And there would be a round of laughter. Once in a while it would be, “No.” To that I would reply, “Be careful you might be walking home from the office.” Jules is my only daughter. And of course there was always the implication that if there were another daughter she would not be the favorite. She got the joke and responded, “But Dad! I’m your only daughter.” Okay! You heard that already! But then there was the time that I operated upon a man with seven daughters. He had a brain tumor. It was pretty serious. Six of the seven daughters leaned in over him as I softly asked which of them was his favorite. He whispered to me, “Jennifer” Aha! And then the oldest said to me, “But he doesn’t have a daughter named Jennifer.” Gotcha!
This moment occurred spontaneously. I told you I don’t dance. I did dance. Once upon a time for four years I did folk dancing in West Virginia. Yes! Four years. I once was forced to take ballroom dancing – foxtrot, waltz, etc – and ballet, and tap – yes, tap dancing. I had a forward thinking mom. It didn’t take. Seventh grade was heaven – slow dancing – and the seventh grade girls felt heavenly as we pressed together. That lasted till eighth grade and the twist and fast dancing forever changed me. Nope. Two left feet from then on… So I was almost home free. Everyone else danced. I did not. …Jules danced across the floor and snagged me. In an instant I was out on the floor and fast dancing away. That’s one of the wedding photographers getting another shot off her list – father daughter dance. New suit – Jules asked me to get one. And she reminded me to bring it when I traveled to California. I queried her “reminder” and Jeff responded she meant my bathing suit. Oh! Duh! It was 80 degrees the week before the cold driving rain. So maybe I could have gone swimming. Some of the hardy guys went surfing. The water was nominally 60 degrees. Yup, there I am in a brand new suit dancing with the bride. You don’t get to do that everyday!
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