Another Solar Return: A Father’s Tribute

THE conventional wisdom on the mystery of childbearing inevitably points to the unspeakable renown of a woman's "biological clock." I care not how its science works. Some myths are best left an enigma.

While men will never understand the magnificent ritual of that exclusive domain, I like to think that with minimal effort we can, in fact, attune to our own inner timepiece.

For instance, when a certain craving sets in and disrupts your languid state, pay close attention. It may have absolutely nothing to do with food or sex.

Clearly I'm only qualified to speak of my own experience. I acknowledged the prodigious craving for what it was. I became restless. I didn't understand it and I didn't care. It was time--I knew I wanted a baby. My alarm went off like a siren, perhaps because I'd slumbered longer than most of my brethren, who in their twenties had already acquired the dubious skill of changing diapers at breakneck speed.

I was about to close the chapter on my ambivalent thirties, with Ginny just a couple of years ahead of me. My head insisted it wasn't ideal timing to get pregnant, let alone commit to nearly two decades of child rearing.

Add that to the tag-team challenge of raising my two beautiful teenage stepdaughters. The momentum was in our favor to anticipate a forseeable empty nest and begin a fantasy about full-time grandparenting.

But I recall the day I surrendered-down on my dormant Catholic knees, fervently negotiating with the Great Provider a fair chance at an offspring. If the universe would grant such a wish to a fair-weather supplicant, I promised to return God's investment with undivided attention and unstinting commitment.

And consider the audacity: I specifically asked that the child be a girl! See, I'd been spoiled by the sublime quality of my immersion in the lives of Alexandra and Catherine, who stood alongside their mother as I proclaimed my wedding vows to the three of them.

God's eerily prompt reply arrived shortly after nine months, seventeen years ago today. We named her Maya Faith, a poignant juxtaposition of ancient spiritual motifs.

"Maya" was the name of Buddha's mother. She's also a manifestation of Lakshmi, a favorite Hindu Goddess of love and prosperity.

A more familiar Eastern reference is the Vedic origin of MAYA. It describes the universe in terms of "magic" or "illusion"-- a play of consciousness. It implies that the world is not as we see it, and vigilance is a requisite for discerning Truth as MAYA can trick the seer with its "mirror of illusions."

Which steers us to our notion for a middle name: FAITH. Given the trickster premise, Faith becomes the sword required to cut down the illusive veil

which Maya weaves so gracefuly. At the very least, it is one virtue worth practicing when mired in existential traffic.

It's an exquisite dance, manifestly embodied by a young woman who moves with ineffable elegance.

What's in a name? It depends on the intention and consciousness around etymology. I believe it has a way of appropriating power to the one being named. That said, Maya Faith the daughter has lived up to her moniker and continues to shape the dharma whose seed was sown the moment I prayed for her birth.

I know, I'm getting carried away here. I'm beginning to sound like a Birkenstock hippie straight out of some ashram in Southern California.

But of this I'm certain: we've raised an authentic and beautifully complex human being. As her accompanist, I'm a live witness to the positive impact on her peers and the thousands of people who get to see her on the big stage every single week . Her Venusian charm, creative talent, and superior mind rival her exemplary work ethic, dedication to craftsmanship, and genuine humility.

Without co-opting the attention, I consider it a privilege to forego my own theatrical career in order to usher this vibrant being into the floodlights where she clearly belongs. In the past year alone, I've seen her exhibit herculean progress in vocal power, musical dynamic, and second language acquisition. She claims the lead roles she's given with such dignity and confidence.

As a veteran director of more than a hundred productions, I'm stunned to discover one of the best all-around talents available-and she lives in my house. Hello, serendipity.

Maya Faith Encila. I am honored to be your Daddy and guide. Your mother and your doting sisters are equally proud and thrilled to see you living your dream. You are made of Star. Keep shining!