It was only yesterday, it seemed, she lay there on her blanket on the floor; not even 24 hours old, those already alert eyes watching the blades of the ceiling fan go ‘round and ‘round. As amazing as it was for her father, not even a day into fatherhood, that moment would be surpassed many times over by even more amazing moments.

There has always been a certain spirit about this child; a sense of wonder never satisfied; a thirst for the new and exciting never quenched; a stranger never met; an expression of joy never stifled. She walks with grace, this child, from Barney sneakers to high-heels; it is a grace so ingrained and divinely sparked she is completely unconscious of it. To her there are only friends and people she has meet who will become friends.

To her, there are only canvasses waiting to be filled. To her, there are only lumps of clay waiting to be molded into fine works of art by talented hands. To her, there are only great tapestries to be hung along living spaces. To her, there is only that yet unknown bit of knowledge to be gleaned and passed along to others.

Fathers have special duties and special responsibilities; particularly when they are father to a child of such grace and inestimable zeal for life. There really is no higher calling for any man than to be a good father. Almost any guy can be a father, of course, but there’s a higher calling to be a dad.

This child’s father was blessed with the greatest of dads to show the way, to set the standard. And, while this child’s father didn’t always live up to that standard, he knew the standard and tried.

Despite his errors and despite his shortcomings — indeed, she nearly lost her dad — this child of grace always managed to save the most special part of that grace for her father. She needn’t say it. She needn’t even express it. It is there. It is felt, constantly. It is an incomparable gift and it will last well beyond her walking away.

The joke has always been that she looks like her mom — and is more than blessed because of that — but burdened because she acts like her dad. And that’s more truth than joke.

But the two share a core of their souls; an untouchable, indefinable essence buried deep, past blood and genes and environment, in the deepest place of human psyche.

And so, as she walks away out into the greater world and her own life, her father worries what kind of world his generation has left for her. It is a world at a crossroads: one road leading toward hate and war and unthinkable trouble; the other leading toward a rebirth of creativity, vision and beauty. She is well suited for the latter. No one is well suited for the former.

Or maybe that’s wrong. Maybe the children of grace like her are best suited to overcome hate and war and trouble. Maybe through their very grace, they will lead toward a world of respect and tolerance; a world of understanding and creativity; of celebrating and glorifying the great patchwork quilt that is all of humanity.

Every father wishes this for the generation of his children; when finally humankind will take up Isaiah’s call to study war no more; to work toward Micah’s vision of justice, where everyone has a fig tree under which they can rest; where “Love thy neighbor” is so ingrained becomes a matter of course.

This child knows that grace, believes it, lives it, with unassuming ferocity and resolve.

There will be tears shed as this child stands and walks away, but there will also be great joy. This child’s father knows what is deep inside the core of this child’s soul. He knows her strength and inner resolve; her calm and her center; her still, small voice.

As she walks away, this child’s father knows well his failures, but he also knows he did one thing right, if only one thing: be this child’s father. It was – and will always remain – the greatest blessing of his life. From building blocks on the floor to building blocks for a life, sure to be lived to the fullest … in the blink of an eye, she walks away.

Steve Hart is a sailor, angler, explorer, raconteur, amateur citrus-grower and semi-professional theologian who masqueraded as a Florida journalist and pundit for the last 25 years. A fifth-generation Floridian, Hart comes from solid cracker stock but revels in the changing face of 21st century Florida and its patchwork quilt of people, their cultures, traditions, shades and ideas. His book, “Tales from Down Yonder, Florida,” is available in local bookstores and on the Web at downyonderflorida.com.

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