Let me introduce myself. I am less than three weeks away from my 54th birthday. I have spent my entire adult life as a journalist. I grew up in a suburb of Boston, Mass., but have lived south of the Mason-Dixon line for most of my years.
Eleven years ago, we moved to Clayton so I could work for The News & Observer. That decision led, in a meandering sort of way, to this blog, because it was in Clayton that my daughter, Hilary, met the boy who would become the man she is going to marry next June. His family had also moved to Clayton from somewhere else. In fact, if there is one defining characteristic of Clayton, it is that many of us have come from somewhere else.
When you make a career decision like I did in 1996, I didn't think that I would be setting in motion events that would bring my daughter and Travis Holtzhauser together. Just as when I decided to take a job in Southwest Virginia in 1975 at a small newspaper, I didn't think that I would be setting in motion events that would lead to meeting my wife. There is a randomness about life that is both exciting and disconcerting.
But here we are, around 250 days away from the June 7, 2008 wedding. In this blog, I will try to share with you what it's like being the father of the bride. I will try to be informative and helpful while still retaining some zone of privacy. For example, I won't go into how much this is all costing. I will probably figure a way to give you some idea of what weddings cost these days, but you'll have to indulge me.
My family has been good enough to let me do this blog. But they are not without some apprehension. In the recent past, I have written two stories about what it was like to take my daughter to concerts (Celine Dion and Britney Spears), and I more recently wrote about going to get a tattoo with my son after he turned 18. I remained on reasonably good terms with everyone after these were published, but I have to acknowledge that one of the perils of being in the same family as a journalist is that your life may become fodder for journalism.
Anyway, I am starting to feel some conflicted emotions as the wedding comes into view over the horizon. The other night, I had trouble sleeping, thinking about the possibility that my daughter may move to the other side of the country. Travis is a computer science major at N.C. State, and is starting to interview with companies because he graduates this December. (My daughter graduates this December as well, from UNC-Chapel Hill.) We have lots and lots of computer firms here in the Research Triangle, but he could end up just as easily in Silicon Valley. And so would my daughter.
I want Hilary and Travis to go where the opportunities take them, and I know with instant messaging and email and free night cell phone calls, we won't be out of touch. But I've spent 21 years getting used to having Hilary around the house. Nothing -- not unloading her stuff at UNC, or seeing her off to Mexico when she studied down there for five months -- nothing has prepared me for that. Even walking her down the aisle won't have the empty-nest impact of helping her off to California or Texas.
Post-script: I would like to say that I am considerably more attractive and distinguished-looking than the caricature drawn by Tim Lee, which appeared in Tuesday's Life, Etc. section and is on the left side of this blog. Tim is an excellent artist, and usually nails his subject, but I just don't know what he was thinking here.
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