I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world
She’s just like a maze
Where all  of the walls are continually changed

I’ve done all I can
To stand on the steps with my heart in my hand
Now I’m starting to see
Maybe it’s got nothing to do with me


Boys you can break
You’ll find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong and boys soldier on
But boys would be gone without warmth from
a woman’s good, good heart

John Mayer, “Daughers”

The Song in My Head has returned! It’s been on a bit of a hiatus for several reasons. For one, I just haven’t been paying attention in the mornings. Since the advent of daylight savings time I’ve been stumbling out of bed in the dark hours of the morning when both I and the voices in my head are barely awake. For another, I’ve discovered that many of the songs in my head…aren’t. Songs, that is. I’ll be jiggered if I can recognize, much less name, the tunes I wake up with some morning. I’m convinced that many of them are unique and new creations. If I could capture them, write them down and set down the notes, I’m sure I’d be a musical genius.

Aside: I also dream sometimes that I’m playing the guitar to a song of my own creation. I know it’s an awesome song and I know all the notes and lyrics whilst I’m dreaming. The tune fades rapidly as I awake, however, and I realize I have no knowledge of how to write music. I’ve made several attempts to capture the songs with little success. I think the definition of genius is the ability to capture these God-given inspirations and bring them forth into a concrete state.

Kinda’ like Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s penning of “Kubla Khan“. He managed to get out something like 100 lines that he’d dreamed before it faded into oblivion. If only we could produce what we dream, where would mankind be?


Anyway, and thirdly, I just haven’t had a lot of time to post.

Seeing how today is Saturday, I slept in a little later and it was light outside when I pushed my feet out of bed and onto the floor. The voices were like lively little puppies, licking my nose and encouraging me to get up, walk and feed them before they urinated on the carpet. They were singing rather gleefully and it was a tune I recognized and sing along to often in the car: John Mayer’s “Daughters”.

I love this song more every time I hear it. It reminds me of…well, several things. It reminds me of C, of course. (…and I’ve done all I can…) Most John Mayer songs do at some level. Probably because we went to his concert together. Maybe it’s because I know she hates this song. It’s typical of our relationship that she would hate the song that I most associated with her.

It also reminds me of another C. (There are lots of ‘C’s in my life, apparently.) This C was the only woman I ever loved at first sight. She was 10 months old at the time, staring up at me from her car seat with these big blue eyes. I think we had an understanding from the very first moment. Her father, at that time, wanted nothing to do with her. (He has since come around.) To me, she was gorgeous and I couldn’t understand how someone could not want to love and be loved by his own daughter. I decided then and there that she needed me and she became the daughter of my heart. That was nine years ago and,  after much water under the bridge, I love her still. I rejoice now in the fact that she has a loving family around her and a good father figure to guide her as she grows.

Lastly, it reminds me of the people around me. Several of my close female friends had no kind of relationship with their father at a formative period in their lives and most of them are still dealing with the hurts and wounds inflicted by that time of their life. Their need and longing for the love of a man is often frustrated by their inability to accept or understand it, simply because they have no good example by which to recognize it.

It makes me fearful for my good buddy and his six month-old daughter. My buddy doesn’t have a great relationship with the mother and, because of this, is only a father from afar. He’s not part of his daughter’s daily life and I worry that, though she’s young yet, wounds are starting to open that just won’t close for the rest of her life. I pray daily that her parents find a way to put aside their own hurts in order to find a way of preventing hers.

These types of hurts are so cyclical, passing  easily from one generation to the next, spreading out like ripples on a pond. It certainly makes it easy to see how all the trouble in the world can be traced back to mankind’s rift with our own Father.

So father’s be good to your daughters. Daughters will love like you do. Girls become lovers that turn in to mothers, so mothers be good to your daughters too.