Whenever possible, I have always kept a picture of my daughter on my desk at work. This served to remind me why I got out of bed and came to work everyday; to provide a good life for her. Even during the worst days in the office I was able to look over and see the picture of her smiling face. I drew comfort from her presence there.
When Jenna was five I was working in the admissions office of a local hospital. Her picture (the one seen above) was on my desk, which was situated right at the entrance to the office. In short, anyone who came into this office walked past me to do so. Of course, working there for a few years I had become friendly with many of the doctors and social workers. They would sometimes stop by during down times for a cup of coffee, some light conversation and some good jokes. There was much laughter in the office in those days. As people milled around my desk everyone of them knew who Jenna was because of her photo and my stories of her, even though they had never met her.
Because my shifts at the hospital sometimes required weekend work, Pam had agreed to drive Jenna to my work to meet me before the end of my shift. Jenna would come into the office, where I would have a paper and crayons for her to use while she waited for me to finish my shift.
On one of her first visits to my office word got around very quickly that "Jenna is here!" Soon there was a parade of women to my office, to meet the girl that they had heard so much about but whom they had never seen in person; only in pictures. Jenna enjoyed the attention and, proudly, so did I. I cracked a few jokes, everyone laughed, and then Anne arrived.
Anne always asked me about Jenna and she was tickled pink to finally meet her in person. Introductions were made and Anne asked Jenna some basic kid questions. "Do you like Elmo?" No, she didn't. "Do you like Rugrats?" Yes, she did - very much so. Now a few other clinicians as well as my co-workers were scattered around the office watching as Jenna worked the room, talking with Anne. Finally, Anne commented on Jenna's looks.
"You are a beautiful girl."
"Thank you," Jenna replied.
"You're welcome. Really, you're a beautiful girl and you look just like your Daddy. Did you know that?"
"Uh, huh," Jenna nodded.
"You're beautiful and your Daddy is handsome. Do you think your Daddy is handsome?"
Jenna paused, dead in her tracks.
She put her hand to her chin, swiveled her chair and looked squarely at me, deep in thought. After an eternity, Jenna turned to Anne and proudly proclaimed, "My Daddy's not handsome; he's funny!"
The laughter from everyone gathered was loud and long .
Finally, with mock indignation, I asked aloud, "Wait a minute. Did my daughter just tell all of you that I'm not much to look at but I have a good personality?"
It took a long time for the laughter to die down. Through it all, Jenna went back to her coloring, a slight smile on her face.
After seventeen years, I have many, many stories like this about my beautiful daughter and they are filled with laughter.
After seventeen years, I still have her picture on my desk at work.
And I still draw comfort and inspiration from it.
Happy Birthday, Jenna.
