Grand Canyon Skywalk was something my daughter and I wanted to do. It is a spectacular piece of engineering where a horseshoe, glass-bottom bridge cantilevers over a gorge. It’s built to survive strong winds, earthquakes and can support millions of pounds! Fantastic! It’s safe! And when the door opened, the first step was glass looking right down to the bottom. I hesitated. My heart raced, my stomach was contorted and I felt a lump in my throat. I wanted to throw up. I realized as I got older that I fear heights. Actually, I’ve become terrified of it.
“What’s wrong, dad?” my daughter asked. Nothing. “C’mon, let’s go to the edge.” Are you kidding me, child? Okay, just a minute. And I sidestepped the glass and walked on the non-glass edge of the bridge. My daughter looked at me surprisingly and asked, “Dad, are you scared of heights?” Let’s scream this out so that the people on the canyon floor can hear your echo, too! No. Yes, Maybe. Just give me a minute, child.
My daughter has grown up seeing me as the slayers of bedroom monsters, defender of sexist parents, f-bombing racists and a sometimes, litigious plaintiff. But here, she witnessed, my hesitation to take even a small step across the threshold. Her image of me as the super dad has crumbled. “Dad, take my hand.” I did not expect my child to be so instantly understanding. I expected more teasing. Is this my kid?
We spent a long time as I zig-zagged across the width of the bridge and occasionally stayed long enough to stand on the see-through portions. I even got enough courage to lay down on the bridge taking a selfie of us with the ghastly bottom as our background! Things I do for my child!
For my daughter to know that I am just a man doing super dad things is far more meaningful than an imagined super-hero doing domestic things!
When we left the attraction and back to our car to see other parts of the Rim, I showed similar aversion. Not only did I not want to go to the edge, I think fear works vicariously too and I didn’t want my daughter to toe the edge. For one, young people think they are invincible and two, if she ever slipped, I think I would freeze into a catatonic state and might not be able to render any assistance.
“Dad, you told me you lived on the 58th floor of a building and felt the building sway in high winds. You told me you were at the Twin Towers having dinner. That’s 100 floors up!” Yes, but those are enclosed spaces and there’s no chance that my foot could suddenly find itself on the other side of double paned high-rise glass. “So, it’s not heights, but the risk of falling.” Well, without heights, there is no falling, child. I dryly said. I don’t think of it in such a technical way, but let’s not delve into my neurosis. “But dad, didn’t you use to tell me that you rode the roller coaster on top of the Las Vegas needle?” Yes, that was a million years ago. “So, you won’t do that again?” Well, that’s why they have seatbelts to keep people in their seats, so they are not flung off the tower if they pass out. That would be me. She laughed. We both did.
I don’t know what image my daughter has of me as her dad, and I don’t know how her discovery of my kryptonite will impact that image, but she’s still my daughter and I’m still her dad. If anything, her seeing this side of me humanizes my role. Despite all the labels of dads being a protector, defender and cheerleader for their daughters, we are also human. And in many ways, for my daughter to know that I am just a man doing super dad things is far more meaningful than an imagined super-hero doing domestic things!
As dad, I’ll do everything I can to elevate my daughter so she can soar to new heights. But I’ll watch her take off with my feet firmly grounded. Thank you.
