"Well, I was just saying," said Arthur, lounging by a small fish pond, "there's this Improbability Drive switch over here . . ." he waved at where it had been. There was a potted plant there now.
"But where are we?" said Ford, who was sitting on the spiral staircase, a nicely chilled Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster in his hand.
"Exactly where we were, I think . . ." said Trillian, as all about them the mirrors suddenly showed them an image of the blighted landscape of Magrathea, which still scooted along beneath them.
Zaphod leaped out of his seat.
"Then what's happened to the missiles?" he said.
A new and astounding image appeared in the mirrors.
"They would appear," said Ford doubtfully, "to have turned into a bowl of petunias and a very surprised-looking whale . . ."
"At an improbability factor," cut in Eddie,who hadn't changed a bit, "of eight million, seven hundred and sixty-seven thousand, one hundred and twenty-eight to one against . . ."
Zaphod stared at Arthur.
"Did you think of that, Earthman?" he demanded.
"Well," said Arthur, "all I did was . . ."
"That's very good thinking, you know. Turn on the Improbability Drive for a second without first activating the proofing screens. Hey, kid, you just saved our lives, you know that?"
"Oh," said Arthur, "well, it was nothing really . . ."
"Was it?" said Zaphod. "Oh, well, forget it then. Okay, computer, take us in to land."
"But . . ."
"I said forget it."
Yes, Arthur did save their lives, even if his actions were completely naive. He saw a switch, thought there was nothing to lose, and flipped it. The missiles are gone, transformed into flowers and a whale, and imminent death has been banished, for the time being.
Today is the day. The day my daughter has been working toward for twelve years. (More like fifteen, if you count Head Start.) The last few weeks have all been building up to this coming evening.
Of course, I've been quite . . . reflective lately. Thinking back on all the milestones of the last twelve years. First day of kindergarten. First dance recital. First school dance. First day of middle school. First band concert. First choral concert. First day of high school. First part in a musical.
In a lot of ways, even though she doesn't know it, my daughter has saved my life, over and over and over. She taught me how to be a better person. When I've expressed misgivings about mistakes I've made as a parent, she's looked at me and said, "You've been a great dad." She's forgiven all my mistakes, and she reminds me daily that I'm worth being loved.
Here are a few of the life lessons I've learned from my daughter:
- An infant girl can pee in your face during diaper changes.
- It doesn't really matter what you get your daughter for Christmas or her birthday. As long as she can see love in your eyes, she will think that gift is a rainbow-colored unicorn that can fly.
- Let your daughter be angry in her bedroom. Being angry is okay, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone. Ditto sadness. All feelings are okay and shouldn't be ignored.
- In the morning, don't speak to your daughter until she speaks to you.
- Sometimes, you have to let your daughter pick her school outfit, even if she looks like she's just raided Goodwill and the Halloween store when she gets on the bus.
- It's okay to let your daughter eat spaghetti for breakfast.
- Your daughter won't care if it's bedtime, as long as you have a good book to read to her. (I highly recommend Charlotte's Web.)
- Your daughter wants you to believe in Santa Claus as long as possible, even when she has her doubts.
- Tell your daughter she's beautiful, every day of her life.
- Make sure your have the best gift bags for your daughter's friends at her birthday parties. Also make sure to include chocolate and something that makes noise--whistles, harmonicas, and horns are acceptable.
- Remind your daughter every once in a while that boys are stupid. This will make both her and you feel better.
- On hot summer days, let your daughter throw buckets of water on herself and run through lawn sprinklers, even if she's fully clothed.
- When your daughter says she wants to be a ballerina, enroll her in dance lessons. If she wants to play piano, find a piano teacher. If she declares that she's an artist, go out and buy her paints and drawing pencils and a lot of paper. Never discourage her dreams.
- Let your daughter eat as much turkey loaf as she wants, even if it means that you have to have Rice Krispies for dinner.
- Set curfews, even if they upset your daughter. It will remind her that you love her.
- Watch Harry Potter movie marathons with your daughter. (You may substitute Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, or The Hunger Games--the series doesn't matter as much as the time you spend together and the quality of the snacks.)
- Love and respect your daughter's mother--it teaches your daughter what to expect from a life partner.
- Try to pretend you REALLY like your daughter's boyfriend that you, in actuality, hate. It will end their relationship much sooner (I have failed on this one a couple of times.)
- Hang your daughter's graduation gown on a hangar. Steam it a few times. You don't want her looking like an unmade bed at her graduation ceremony.
- Put lots of Kleenex in your pockets before you go to dance recitals, award ceremonies, choral concerts, band concerts, school plays and musicals, and graduations.
Those are just a few of the nuggets of wisdom I have collected over the past 18 years.
My daughter has seen me at my very worst, when I was struggling so much that I could barely see sunlight. Love is too small a word to apply to her. It doesn't begin to capture all that she's given me. And now I have to learn the hardest life lesson . . .
Saint Marty has to open his fingers and let go.
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