My Daughter Gently Patted My Back—In That Moment, a Thousand Words Spoken: Excerpt from 'A Man's Second Romance' (1)

My daughter is twenty-one years old. A father’s heart is fragile—any parent will understand. Yet putting these feelings into words is difficult. It’s like writing a love letter: full of emotion and directness, but when transformed into text, word by word, it often feels unlike the original bloom of feeling. This was the most delicate and elusive emotion I faced while writing the preface to this book. Like a cloud drifting into view—I thought I’d caught it, but as soon as I began writing, I’d pause, shake my head, and feel unsatisfied. In the age of pen and paper, the scene would be this: crumpling the page, tossing it into the trash, writing again, crumpling again, throwing it out. Then, with a sigh, standing up to find the trash can—and the floor around it—littered with wrinkled, balled-up dreams. Each one a wonder of an aging man who discovered magic upon becoming a father. Yet I wonder: once these dreams are transcribed into words, how much of that initial awe I felt when I first saw my daughter remains? And how much of the winding, meandering journey—from new father to genuinely old dad—can truly be conveyed? Writing love letters to my daughter. That’s been my quiet, open secret since she arrived on Earth. I am undeniably a classic 'old dad.' I married at forty-four, held my daughter in my arms at forty-seven. After nearly half a century of life, welcoming a daughter brought complex emotions. Will I be able to watch her grow? Can I walk beside her through life’s challenges? Will my age become a burden, constantly holding her back? These questions haunted me as I held her, gently patting her back after her birth. Indeed, becoming a husband and a father means the world is no longer just yours. I’ve always had the habit of writing down thoughts as they arise. Smartphones made this easier. Facebook offered a space like a personal column. Many of my books were written this way—piece by piece, published online, then compiled into a book when enough material had accumulated. But the letters to my daughter have been written continuously, intermittently, and now exceed the length of a full book—yet I’ve delayed publishing. Perhaps I’ve been waiting for the right moment. I’m not sure what that moment is. But now, my daughter has graduated elementary school, middle school, high school, and is nearing the end of university. Maybe it’s time to act. Thus, 'A Man’s Second Romance: Love Letters to My Daughter' has taken shape. Releasing it as she enters her final university years feels like a confession—a declaration from an old father. After marrying, completing the first long romance of manhood, and earnestly living as a husband, a man is utterly captivated the moment his daughter is born. This begins his second romance: pinching her tiny cheeks, gently nibbling her fingers, soothing her to sleep, happily changing diapers, gazing at her angelic sleeping smile. From that point, he can never escape this second romantic phase of life. The romantic encounter between an aging father and his young daughter is likely forever asymmetrical—just like the love between all parents and children. Children always move forward, often without looking back. No matter how reluctant, my daughter is planting flags and advancing across the map of becoming her true self. Like any old dad, I send her off, drive her to the airport, wait for her safety message, wait for her text updates. She’s either already far away or on her way there, with a future far broader than her parents’. As for me, since her birth, if I’m not thinking of her, I’m pondering how, as a father, I can love her in a way that honors the blessing of having a daughter in my life. A middle-aged man witnessing his daughter’s arrival on Earth undergoes a fundamental transformation. Before having a daughter, even if married, I might have merely been in an extended phase of romance—each day with my beautiful wife a good day. But when my daughter appeared, everything changed—our love changed! I had to consider the possibilities of extending my life’s legacy—not to the next life, but to my daughter’s generation. This is love—undoubtedly. This is true love—certainly. So I’ve often written about my daily life with my daughter, from her earliest days to the present. And I will surely continue writing into the future. This is a man’s second romance—always leaving behind a trail of loving footprints as an old father. Once, I went to the airport to pick up my daughter. She walked out of the arrivals gate, gracefully approaching me. In those brief seconds, a montage played in my mind—from her first wobbly steps to studying abroad. I opened my arms. She leaned gently into me. I hugged her, and then—she actually patted my arm with her palm, repeatedly. In that instant, a thousand words, ten thousand feelings. My daughter had learned how to comfort her father! *Author is a writer and Director of Taipei City’s Department of Cultural Affairs. This excerpt is from the author’s latest essay collection, 'A Man’s Second Romance: Love Letters to My Daughter' (Lianjing Publishing).