LONGVIEW, Texas — Dear Kasey:
I wrote you a letter just more than a dozen years ago, on the eve of your graduation from high school. You were 17 years old and preparing to head off to the University of Texas at Austin — The University, as we Teasips call it. I convinced you and Mere, aka Goose, that I would pay for you to go to UT but wouldn't contribute a dime to A&M.
My threat wasn't genuine, of course. I would happily have paid for either of you to go to A&M. Still, I'm glad my bluff worked. So we headed down Highway 21 for orientation, both of us so excited that you would become the second generation of our family to graduate from UT.
That trip is when I confessed to the windshield trick. You remember that? I used to touch my hand to the windshield and tell you and your sister the outside temperature, back when cars didn't have outside thermometers. You and Mere were always so impressed, up until I told you how I was fooling you. I would listen to the radio disc jockey, and when he said it was, say, 68 degrees I took note. I used that for my "prediction." So the next time he came on and announced the temperature, either you were impressed by my acumen or did a great job at pretense. I'm fine with either scenario.
Now you, my oldest daughter, have turned 30 years old. Jeez. That must mean I'm getting old, or I started really early on this parenting gig. I prefer to believe the latter. Still, it's hard to believe that, for three decades now, the term "Daddy" has been part of my job description.
Those three decades are a blur at times. It's a cliché, but it really does feel as if it were yesterday that I held you in arms minutes after you were born in Nacogdoches Medical Center. Or helped potty train you while briefly out of work in Missouri after going broke and dropping out of graduate school.
Recently, I hanged a photo in my parents' bathroom that I took of you on the wooden potty chair, grinning up at the camera. I remember as a teen when it mortified you to see that photo in their bathroom. That's part of what dads do — embarrass their children.
Remember this: Time flies. Take advantage and be grateful for every day.
You missed being born on my birthday by just 11 hours and 21 minutes. That's close enough that we have often celebrated our birthdays together over the years. This year was no exception, since met for lunch on your birthday in Austin.
I am very proud of you, Kasey. This fall marks a new beginning for you, teaching autistic children in an Austin-area school district. I know that you're apprehensive about this career change. I also know you'll be a wonderful teacher. Your empathy, dedication and good heart will all combine to guarantee your success.
I know I have fallen short as a father at times, as most do. I've tried to be there when it counts, when you've needed me. There are so many great memories. The trip to Europe with Goose, playing football in the front yard after Thanksgiving dinners, watching you graduate from UT — even the time you and I single-handedly moved your possessions in the August heat from one third-story apartment to another.
OK, that wasn't so much fun. But it built character. Luckily, now you have lots of strong-backed friends, because I'm retiring from the moving business if at all possible. But I'll loan you my trailer if you need it.
I hope you had a great birthday. I warned you not to party too hard, because the next day was a workday. Hope you took my advice.
Love, Dad
Gary Borders is publisher of the Longview News-Journal. E-mail: gborders AT coxlnj.com.