Daddy-daughter

The other night, the kids were in bed. I was heading downstairs to check some e-mails, do the dishes, etc., when I heard a call from behind a closed door. "Daddy...".

I opened my daughter's door, and she was in bed, snuggled up under the covers. "Yes, Allie," I said.

"Come here," she said.

I walked to her bed, and she said, "When can we have another daddy-daughter date?"

To which I replied, "Do you want a pony? Because you can have one."

Yes, my little girl is growing up way too fast, but I am trying hard to remind myself that I still have a few fleeting moments where I am still "Daddy."

I have seen those changes coming for a while. Last year, I went on a field trip with my daughter's class. When I saw my daughter, I said the usual refrain I use when I see her: "Hey, Allie-bear!" Normally, that is greeted with a big smile and a hug. In front of a gaggle of classmates? A stern, "Dad! DON'T. CALL. ME. THAT."

Fair enough. Truth be told, I have probably violated one of the daddy-daughter tenets by even mentioning that in a column. My wife has actually shelved a couple of columns that I thought were delightful romps through a young girls' follies. My wife, however, has been an elementary school girl, and said, "Uh, yeah, no."

It was nothing scandalous or horrible. Singing extra loud to a Jonas Brothers YouTube is hardly the stuff of Congressional investigations. It's the same stuff her classmates do, too. But now is the time they are really developing their identity of who they are and, more importantly, how they can identify potentially mockable things in fellow classmates. So best to leave things alone.

I actually can sort of relate. I have three older sisters, so I got to see the evolution of the female creature on quite a personal level. And it's a sight to behold.

So now I sit at a crossroads. My little girl is slowly evolving into, well, not my little girl any more.

Oh, don't get me wrong. She will always be my little girl. When she gets her diploma? My little girl. When I walk her down the aisle? My little girl. It better not be for another two decades, but I can't imagine the feeling of what it will be to hold my little girl's child.

But let's not get too far ahead. Here's what I have in front of me: That rare dual-purpose window of parental functionality. Behind closed doors, I can be Daddy, the one who can still get a charge out of his daughter with the world's greatest game, Bumrush!, which involves me coming into a room where the kids are sitting and doing a flying tackle onto the couch while screaming, "BUMRUSH!" while the laughter fills the room.

And I can be the one in public who pretends, to her friends, that I have no clue about the game Bumrush!, as that is far better for her social endeavors. The fact that I have entered the point in time where the phrase "Dad, you're embarrassing me!" is kind of reassuring.

So to that end, I vow this to my daughter:

-- I will not intentionally embarrass you in front of your friends, unless it is absolutely necessary;

-- I will not call you Allie-bear in front of your classmates;

-- I will not share stories with your friends about when you were little, but can make no promises about them finding columns I wrote years ago about you;

-- I will not mention you in columns without prior approval from your mother. After this one.

Now, about that daddy-daugher date....