THE STORYTELLER: Stories For My Daughter

By Steve Wideman

A delightful and emotional read, The Storyteller is purposely written for parents that can benefit from its transformational lessons of showing love openly, and without fear. The magic of children experiencing unconditional love day in and day out is an emotional journey not soon forgotten. Be prepared fo

• Language: English
• Publisher: BEYOND PUBLISHING
• Release date: Dec 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781637924679

Book preview

Pearest Adalaide, Happy Birthday!

I’m writing this on your actual birthday, as you’re lying nestled and tiny against your mother’s chest. You’re reading it on your tenth. My heart aches and rejoices at this pen-and-paper time travel.

This is the first of many letters you will receive throughout your life. I hope they bring you joy and guidance throughout your life.

Since this is the first letter, I’m going to start at the beginning of our journey with you, starting from the day we discovered your mom was pregnant. Stories have power. They can convey a depth of meaning to life rarely found elsewhere. They can connect us, through time and space, through simple words upon a page, like the ones you’re reading right now.

And so, my beautiful daughter, I hope you enjoy this story about you.

It was a cold winter day when we found out we would welcome you into the world. The power had gone out in our entire neighborhood. We’d never been so cold in our tiny New York City apartment.

We snuggled up under all our blankets, our closeness the best part of having to huddle together for warmth. I remember rubbing our arms and legs for that brief flash of heat on our skin. Your mother looked beautiful in the white daylight—do you know the way the light appears in a snowstorm, the way it bounces off the flakes and makes the day seem brighter than it should?

Her cinnamon-colored eyes shone bright as she told me she thought she might be pregnant. She pushed my hair out of my eyes as she studied my expression. I loved the idea of being a father, but the responsibility of providing for a child had me feeling like Atlas holding the weight of the heavens upon his shoulders. And yet, though I didn’t even know if you were real yet, I love you and vowed to do right by you.

Your mom went to take the test (she had to pee on a stick— isn’t that funny?) Then we set an old wind-up egg-timer for five minutes, exactly how long it would take to find out: Yes or No. We’d kept the old-fashioned timer because it looked cute on the kitchen counter next to the spice rack. But it’s a good thing we did since we wouldn’t have had a way to time the test without, due to the lack of electricity. Both our phone batteries had died hours before. The tick-tick-tick of that tiny oval timer filled our ears. Five minutes doesn’t sound very long, but that day, it felt like an eternity. Worse than waiting for Santa or the final bell on the last day of school. When it finally rang, I was reminded of my old alarm clock with the rounded bells that sat on my nightstand when I was a child. A child. Soon I might have one of my own. I didn’t care about the cold anymore—I dropped the blankets on the floor and raced for the bathroom.

Your mom was too nervous to move, so I brought the stick out into the light. In that moment of holding it aloft, I forgot what the lines meant in my excited anticipation. Should I hope for one or two? But there they were, two lines so clear no one could misunderstand. You were on your way.

Elation and fear mixed like a river hitting the ocean. My stomach gripped as if I were on a roller coaster creeping its way up the first hill. But the apprehension had nothing to do with you. That story will be for another letter (maybe).

I looked at your mom and nodded. Yes. Her tears surprised me, trickling past her freckles. I love those freckles. I wonder if you share them. I used my thumb to wipe them away and held her close, no longer for warmth but to stand together against the tidal wave of love and fear I knew we both felt. And I knew at that moment that we would be okay.

This baby will be our miracle, I told her, and soon we were twirling around the living room, humming the tune we danced to on our wedding day. No matter what challenges we met, we’d do it together…and soon with you, too.

You were the butterfly effect that changed everything. From the moment I checked the stick, time moved like molasses and the speed of light all at the same time. Over the months, your mom’s belly grew, and it was a wonder to place my hand against it and feel you moving. Often a hand or foot would push her stomach outward as if you were letting us know your yearning for more space. We knew we’d need to move; her stomach wasn’t much smaller than our apartment.

When the doctor told us you would be a girl, we were floating in sunshine. And our lives filled with gifts from friends and family in all shades of pink, lavender, and yellow. Unicorns and rainbows lit up our lives. Of course, my college friend Katherine made sure you had trucks and airplanes and dragons, too. The mobile hanging over your crib right now is from her. It’s the one with the knight and princess and castle and not-very-ferocious dragon. Do you remember it?

I was over-the-moon excited to be having a little girl, a tiny human, to hold my hand. I knew I would be wrapped around your finger. Your entire future played out on my mind; how mine changed in a second has been the most amazing journey of my own spirituality.

Things were about to change, though, and that early excitement would fade away. It was a sticky hot, humid summer day when I received my diagnosis. The doctor’s office was chilled by air conditioning. Yet, when he told me, my palms became clammy, and I began to sweat. I couldn’t