Not that there was ever any doubt, but I am in love. Crazy, head over heels in love. She has long dark hair and dark eyes that can light up the sky or shoot laser beams at the object of her irritation. Sometimes I look at her and wonder how it is that she came into my life. Ok, I know exactly how she got here, but times I still am shocked.
There are moments where she infuriates me. She has this ability to prick the soft underbelly. When she sees my displeasure she tries to disarm me with coy little looks and a giggle that is contagious. She has been working hard for a number of years to train me. And just when I think that I have finally made it clear who the boss is she does something that totally throws me.
That is ok. I am here for the long haul. I can be like the terminator. Determined, relentless and unyielding. And that is ok, because for her I have to be. It is a requirement that I am happy to fulfill.
There is just one thing that really kills me. One day I am going to have to share her and I don’t really know if I am ever going to be ready for that. I tell myself that it is going to be ok, but still I find myself considering whether I prefer to purchase a shotgun or a .45. They’ll make a nice addition to the acres I own in the Mojave desert.
If you haven’t figured it out I am talking about my daughter. The four-year-old girl who has spent her life studying her old man. She recently told me that she is going to marry a boy in her class at school.
Let me share the tale with you. As you read it you can imagine the expression on my face.
Dad: How was school today?
Daughter: I kissed Mark.
Dad: Oh. Why’d you kiss Mark?
Daughter: I wanted to. I kissed him on his shoulder and he wiped it off.
Dad: That’s ok. Boys are like that. I’d just forget about it. We don’t need to kiss anyone right now.
Daughter: Dad, I didn’t like that he wiped it off. So I fixed it.
Dad: Uh, you did. How did you do that?
Daughter: I kissed him on the mouth. He couldn’t wipe that off.
Dad: Hey now. We go to school to learn and have fun. Not to kiss people. Remember we need to keep our hands to ourselves.
Daughter: It is ok. We’re in love.
Daughter: Yep. We’re going to put a baby in my tummy. We’re in love.
Dad: Oh you are. How do you get a baby in there?
Daughter: I don’t know. Maybe G-d will put it there.
Dad: Yes, that is right. G-d will put it there, but not until you are married and about 80 years-old.
Daughter: Silly daddy. You don’t have to be 80. You can be 12 or 28 0r even a million years old.
I spent the majority of this conversation with a poker face, but if you could read my mind the unedited version would have looked something like this:
Jack’s Mind: Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! He wiped it off and she fixed it. She doesn’t miss a beat. I am going to have my hands full, not to mention the poor bastard that she decides she wants. Ok, it is fine. She is four. It is innocent. She doesn’t have a clue as to how to get pregnant. She is still innocent. Is it wrong to hire a mean 6 year-old to go rough up the four year-old boy and tell him to stay away from my daughter. Why am I worrying about this now. Because she is your freaking daughter jackass! Say, this might make great blog fodder. Ok, this is proof that you have spent too many years blogging. How can I work the Shmata Queen into this post? Ok, I’ll say something about how I am more relaxed because she is not growing up in some snow filled dying city. And that is good because I know that she’ll have an excuse to be outdoors. She is four, why can’t I just enjoy it. Ok, I am making the decision now to just relax because she is only four and there really isn’t a reason to be upset.
The 11 lines above represent about five seconds worth of thought. I didn’t freak out, but I admit that I was momentarily thrown. I also have to admit that for a moment I couldn’t help but picture my girl in a wedding dress. It was weird, but kind of nice.
A short time later the dark haired beauty and I were sitting on the couch reading a story together and I had to just smile. I love all of my children equally, but daughters are different from sons…I suppose that if I could I’d write and sing my own version of Nancy With The Laughing Face, but that is not my forte.
So I turned to the computer and decided to write this little post. One day when she is older I’ll give her a copy of these things and she’ll be able to see that her old man spent more than a couple of hours thinking about her.
Since some of you have decided to “share” my pain with others I decided that I’d take advantage of the opportunity to share some other stories about the kids and I.
For those who are concerned these are all Rated G more or less.
Blessing My Children
Fatherâ€™s Love Their Daddies Too
A Sentimental Old Fool
She Broke My Penis
Dad, I Need A Phone
The World’s Strongest Penis
Penis Talk Revisited
My Penis Died
More Questions about Body Parts
Great Moments In Parenting- Parts of our Body That Grow
The Princess Speaks
Daddy You Died
My Daughter’s Favorite Book
A Big Girl Bed
Death Comes For Us All- When Do you Start Saying Goodbye
She Needs To Know About Boys
His Penis Is In The Wrong Place
Dancing With My Daughter
Are You Smarter Than A Rabbi? Part I
Are You Smarter Than A Rabbi? Part II