During my daughter's lifetime I've run the full gamut from diaper-changer, to physician of scraped knees, to homework helper, to teen counselor, to keeper-of-the-checkbook. Now I'm Daddy again.
I bought the title. Paid for it in full. After writing checks to cover four years of higher education (along with excursions to Europe and all points around the U.S. of A.) the title is mine. I should have a wide belt with a big brass belt buckle that says, "World Champion Daddy".
A man doesn't need the accolades, though. Not a real man. Daddy is enough. After all, she is still my little girl and sometimes, when I ask nicely, she will bring me a can of salted nuts and a beer while I'm watching reruns of Gomer Pyle. Now that she's post-21, I can ask. Sometimes she will also make a run to the pharmacy to buy more lineament for my back or get me a new bottle of pills (doesn't matter which kind). That's my girl!
I like having an older daughter with whom I can discuss great literature. We like the same books and sometimes I get to amaze her with my depth of knowledge about old farts like Homer or Shakespeare or John Updike. She thinks I am wise. And since she is not married yet, I can still talk to her about marriage and point out how unfair it is that I am the one who does most of the cooking and cleaning and toilet scraping and it would be a great thing if she would give her future husband a break. I also invite her to talk some sense into her mother and point out that sex was intended to be one of God's great gifts and that the good Lord intended for this gift to be utilized far more frequently than twice a year in a marital relationship. That, and her mother should stop making fun of my urination frequency and asking questions about my marble-sized prostate. I'm a little sensitive.
But I really don't want to talk about it.
All I can do is thank my daughter for listening.
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