My Daughter, Out There... On The Beam

On this episode of Our American Stories, when Stephen Rusiniak became a father of a daughter he had worries, and when she became a high school gymnast, his worries only increased. Here's Stephen to share his story of fatherhood. 

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:15):
This is Lee Habib, and this is our American Stories,
and we tell stories about everything here on this show,
from the arts to sports, and from business to history.
And today we have on one of our regularly featured guests,
and that's Stephen Rasiniac. Many of his pieces have been
published in The Great Chicken Soup for the Soul Books.
This one he wrote during the time his daughter Tracy

(00:37):
was a high school gymnast. Here's Stephen.

Speaker 2 (00:42):
She didn't make a sound. You have a daughter, the
doctor announced, before whispering something else to the nurses. His
eyes silently spoke volumes as the OAR team quickly went
back to work. Not even a minute old, and already
I fell such love for her. And still I was

(01:02):
absolutely powerless to help my baby girl. But I'm her daddy,
I thought to myself, I'm supposed to be able to
protect her, to keep her safe. And still all I
could do was watch from the sidelines and do nothing.
It was out of my hands. She came home from

(01:23):
the hospital five days later, and for a while I
kept her safe for as long as I could, until
the time came when I couldn't. Destiny demanded that Tracy
would one day become a gymnast, after all, she began
practicing for the sport while still sleeping in a crib.

(01:44):
Twice Karen and I found her roam in the house
long after she and her stuffed animal friends had been
tucked in for the night. Determined to learn how this
feet was being accomplished, we waited and watched, and eventually
we saw are not quite two year old, scaling the
sides of her crib with the amazing agility of Sir

(02:07):
Edmund Hillary repelling Mount Everest. Rather than running the risk
of her plummeting during one of our nighttime escapades, we
thought it best if she made the transition from crib
to big girl bed. But in hindsight, how could we
have known that her perilous climbing adventures would one day

(02:29):
give way to her spending her autumn afternoons on blue
matted floors as a member of her high school gymnastics team.
In retrospect, I now view her early years as a
time when the risks she faced were comparably minimal to
those before her today, a time not so long ago

(02:52):
when her blankie and her daddy's arms were more than
enough to keep her safe in the moments leading up
to the start of the competition, both teams were warming
up out on the floor. A dread began to grow
within me as I watched the slow and calculated maneuvers

(03:14):
being executed atop the balance beam by two gymnasts as
they tweaked their routines in last minute preparations. Tracy, however,
wasn't one of them, at least for the moment. Instead,
I saw her stretching on the floor and her new
competition leotards or Leo's as she'd recently corrected me. Soon enough, though,

(03:41):
she would be out there performing, and once again I'd
be helplessly watching from the sidelines. Admittedly, what scares me
the most is that when Tracy competes on the beam,
she's on her own, potentially at risk, vulnerable, and through
all I feel, as I did in the moments following

(04:03):
her birth, absolutely powerless. And for me, this is a problem.
I'm her daddy. I'm supposed to protect her and to
keep her safe. After all, this has been my job forever.
But today, once again, when she begins her routine, all
I can do is watch from the sidelines and do nothing.

(04:28):
Once again, it's out of my hands. For almost two hours.
She was out there on her own, and when she
mounted the balance beam, I held my breath and watched
a twist, a turn, a handstand, some fancy footwork, a
surprising cartwheel, a few leaps, and then an aerial front tuck,

(04:54):
somersaulting dismount, all safely executed, her hands raised in the air,
her smile radiant. She nailed it again back in the stands.
My breathing resumes. She's getting better every day, honing her talents,
mastering her skills. Later on the ride home, we rehashed

(05:20):
the entire meat and I realized, at least for the moment,
my little girl was safe, and my grudging admission, she's
not so little anymore. How did this happen? I mean,
when did my little crib climbing escape artist suddenly become
this sixteen year old Leo Waring gymnastics competitor. Anyway, I'm

(05:46):
well aware that my fears of watching her perform, especially
on the balance beam, or in part a metaphor for
all the concerns that I'll always have for her well being.
It's inevitab that if she grows older, she'll be confronted
with so many of life's obstacles, and when she is

(06:08):
I'll always be there, still a little nervous, sometimes worried,
but always proud of her, just like I am today.
And so for the rest of her gymnastics career, I'll
quietly remain another spectator daddy sitting in the stands, continuing

(06:31):
as she competes, to both cringe and celebrate her determination
and independence as she has the time of her life
out there on the beam.

Speaker 1 (06:44):
And thanks as always to Stephen Risinniac for the work
he does for us, and thanks to Faith for producing
the story. And my goodness, what a story it is
of a father well in the end, just having to
do nothing sometimes and watch and to support his little
girl and be there when she falls that crib climbing
escape artist is now walking the high beam. It's a

(07:06):
great metaphor for life. What a great father, daughter's story.
So much has written about fathers and sons, not enough
about fathers and daughters. Thanks to Steve Orsiniak, his story,
his daughter Tracy's story. Here aren't our American Stories. This

(07:30):
is Lee Habib, host of our American Stories. Every day
on this show we tell stories of history, faith, business, love, loss,
and your Stories. Send us your story small or large
to out email oas at Ouramerican stories dot com. That's
oas at Ouramerican stories dot com. We'd love to hear

(07:51):
them and put them on the air. Our audience loves
them too,