By Emily Rivers
Will she hold onto the memory of those hands? I truly hope so. I like to believe she will remember them long after this evening fades away. The details of the event might blur, but the image of those large, calloused hands fastening a simple corsage—a first for both of them—will likely remain vivid. It was a yellow carnation attached to a band of elastic with a bit of Velcro.
My role was straightforward: I was the dressing assistant and photographer. It wasn’t until they stepped out into the rain that I felt the tears welling up. My father and I never attended organized dances, though we did share a dance at my wedding. I can still picture the hands that held mine and the joy sparkling in his eyes.
While we didn’t go to dances during my childhood, we often participated in Indian Princess outings. The year after my brother passed away, we joined that same group of fathers and their teenage daughters for a white-water rafting adventure in the North Carolina mountains. The effort my father put into those experiences meant the world to me, and now I was witnessing a similar bond between my daughter and her dad.
It’s his hands I want her to remember—hands that may have fumbled slightly as they handled the yellow flower, yet were steady and reassuring. A part of the father who made it a point to come home early to ease his impatient daughter, just six years old and already a meticulous timekeeper when it came to her daddy’s promises.
If he kept her waiting, there would surely be consequences, and I found joy in the playful banter, much as any mother would after accepting that some struggles are simply part of family life. She has a way of charming him that I never could, and it’s truly beautiful.
I want her to remember the man who fell in love with her first. Though he belongs to another, I hope she captures little snapshots of what true love should look like: gentle, nurturing, and expressed through a father’s touch. Those hands that smooth her dark hair away to check for a fever, or that cradle her tiny ones as they bounce on the trampoline that Santa brought three Christmases ago.
Those hands that recently presented her with a corsage will soon be applying sunscreen to her growing limbs as she eagerly prepares for summer activities. This summer, they will guide her as she learns to drive the boat, and I will capture those moments in my heart. I’ll send a silent message: Remember those hands, my darling. Both of you.
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In summary, the bonds we create with our children through simple gestures like a father’s touch can leave lasting impressions. As they navigate each new experience together, those memories become the foundation of love that will shape their lives.