Force of Nature - July 2018

            Jane is a force of nature and has been ever since she was in utero. Wifey went into labor 6 weeks early, right in the middle of the school day. Her first thought was ‘Wait a minute, those are contractions.’ Her second thought was, ‘This baby is not coming now, I’m getting credit for teaching today.’

            From that moment on, it’s been a battle of wills between our vivacious daughter and us. In the Newborn Intensive Care Unit at St. Mary’s in Reno, Jane would rip her feeding and oxygen tubes out and literally do a push up to move her head from one side to the other. The wonderful nursing staff immediately took note: ‘Wow, your daughter is quite the fighter.’

            “Gee, ugh. Thanks.” Wifey and I stammered.

            Naively, my unstated goal for our recent trip up Half Dome in Yosemite was building some conformance and acquiescence in Jane. I also wanted her to appreciate the simplicity of hiking for days in the backcountry and be authentically proud of something besides manipulating her parents.

            Day 1: We embarked from Tenaya Lake with my cousin Sarah, who was visiting from Washington D.C. Unfortunately, Sarah and I made the mistake of pointing out the landscape.

            “Jane, check it out.” Sarah said from the first overlook. “That mountain in the distance, that’s Cloud’s Rest.”

            “What? No!” Jane cried out. “That’s so So so So far away. I won’t go. No way.”    

            We did manage to persuade her to continue, in part through strategically-timed bribery, like letting Jane keep the trail map and update us on our depressingly slow progress or my mid-day gift of a slingshot, to be used to hunt the chipmunks and Goblins that live in the rocks under Cloud’s Rest.

            When we reached the final uphill before the summit, Jane all but forgot how tired her legs were and was just excited about finally realizing a goal we’ve been talking about for a year. I had to take her hand and slow her down, because as she explained to Sarah over dinner at the summit, “There’s death on this side and death on that side. So, we needed to hike right in the middle.”

            “Good thinking,” Sarah responded.

            That evening, we hiked down toward Half Dome as the sun set over the valley. It was exquisite. Under the light of a full moon, we turned on headlamps and hiked close to each other singing Disney songs until finally reaching Sunrise Creek and a small collection of tents around a campfire.

            Day 2: The next morning, it was Half Dome Day. We left our tent set up and took smaller packs for the journey. Jane was moving slowly, but her spirits lifted when Linda Lee, a very experienced ranger, complimented her and accepted a gummy worm offering from Jane, “You are amazing. I bet you’ll be the youngest kid up here today. Is it okay if I take a picture with you to show my trainees?”

            From that point on, Jane’s perception of the whole experience did an about-face. She was a celebrity and almost every stranger we encountered offered her some words of encouragement or dumbfounded awe.

            Even harnessed and clipped to me and the cables, Jane pushed through her doubts and negativity.

            “This is too hard! I think this is far enough, Daddy.” 

            “We’re almost there.” I responded. “See where that guy is? That’s pretty much the end of the cables and we’ll be at the top.”

            “Okay.”

            At the summit, Jane scampered around sharing more gummy worms and ‘Astronaut Ice Cream’ with her adoring fans. She regaled them with the story of how a chipmunk had eaten the rest of her Macaroni and Cheese on Cloud’s Rest the night before and how she hiked at night.

            On the hike down, Linda Lee joined us and held hands with Jane, smiling and talking about her life as an accomplished and independent woman in the park service. Sarah and I had to quickly change the topic when Jane was about to divulge a few too many particulars about where we had camped the night before our backcountry permit started.   

            That evening in Little Yosemite Valley after swimming in the Merced River and sitting around another campfire where Jane received even more kudos, things took a turn toward antagonism.

            “Daddy, I’m hungry. Feed me, now.”

            “Jane, honey, we already ate dinner and that’s not how you ask.”

            “But, I’m hungry now and I didn’t get enough and didn’t like the pasta.”

            “All we have left is a little oatmeal for breakfast, Kiddo.”

            After 10 minutes of trying to explain the concept of food rationing and Jane getting progressively irate, she actually threw a hiking pole at me.  

            “Jane, why did you do that? That was really dangerous.”

            “I’m hungry!”

            In part to avoid the scorn of nearby campers, I finally consented. 

            “Jane, I’m giving this 2nd dinner to you now, but I want you to apologize for trying to hurt me and I want you to realize this means that tomorrow, I don’t get to eat.”

            “Okay. I’m sorry, Daddy.”

            Day 3: Sarah and Jane hiked the 5 miles down to the main valley floor while I hoofed it 15 miles up to Tuolumne where the car was parked. 

            Maybe it was food-deprivation-excessive-hiking-induced-delirium, but on the way back up the John Muir Trail, I realized how upside down my goals for the trip were. Jane definitely broadened her perspective. But more importantly, I feel like my paradigm for raising my daughter has completely shifted.

            The relationship between parent and child is not unilateral. It’s not just Wifey and I imparting our wisdom on our offspring and Michael and Jane passively absorbing it. No. We, as parents, learn and grow too.

            With this trip, I’ve come to realize that as much as I try, I’m not ultimately in control. Jane is. Jane won’t acquiesce to our every demand. She defies conformity, this has been true since that first day when Jane decided that she’d had enough of Wifey’s womb. Sure, we can teach her to use utensils properly or to brush her hair, but ultimately, Jane is who she is in a willful, wonderful, and wild way. Building a fly hotel in the dirt with bug-repellant wipes and doing cartwheels in unicorn pajamas around the campfire for the entertainment of fellow hikers is Jane, and it’s not going to change. She’s a force of nature as big and beautiful as the landscape we just traversed and the best thing I can do is keep her safe, give her experiences and guidance, but mostly, instead of trying so hard to change her, I’ll start to just enjoy the view.