'Certain it is that there is no kind of affection so purely
Angelic as of a father
To a daughter. In love to our wives there is desire; to our
Sons, ambition; but to our daughters there is something which
There are no words to explain.'�
Joseph Addison




From the rear of the church we hear the singers start their song; our cue to line up for the march. All of the bridesmaids in their yellow satin dresses take their places for the procession and we fall in to our place at the rear, my daughter and I. She seems so small but radiant in her gown ' white satin and lace, the veil on her head like a crown, lace flowing down her back. I take her arm and we turn to look at the photographer behind us. She gives me a gentle kiss on the cheek as the shutter clicks and the light flashes. We turn to look ahead of us and as our eyes meet she gives me that dazzling smile that has always had a way of melting my heart. My little girl would soon be mine no more.

* * *

Rhea was born in May of 1984, one week before Mother's Day that year; our first child. She came into the world crying strong, all five pounds-six ounces and eighteen and three-eighths inches of her, with a full head of hair and bright blue eyes that melted my heart and burned into my soul. I wept.

'Look,'� I said proudly through the tears, 'she smiled at me!'� No, I was told, that's just gas. All babies do that. Right; then I was imagining the sparkle in her eyes, too, I thought. I tried to argue the point a couple more times, then gave up. Let them think it was gas; I knew she smiled at me ' and she had me wrapped around her tiny finger from that moment on.

As the months passed I came to know how insignificant I was in her early live. I hadn't fully grasped how dependant a baby is on its mother and how daddy just kind of drifts in and out as the work-a-day world draws him away from his loved ones. I began to think she didn't even know when I was gone, or care for that matter. Maybe it had been just gas. When Rhea was six months old, I found out how wrong I was in this thought and just how aware of my presence she really was. It had snowed that November day and I knew, traffic being what it was, that I would be late getting home from work. Stopping at a gas station owned by a friend I called my wife, Judy, to let her know I was safe and then settled in for a long 'bull session' with my friend. Eventually the sanding trucks came, traffic cleared, and I was on my way again.

I got home about two hours later than usual and when I opened the door, Rhea came running to me in her walker, smiling and squealing excitedly. I was pleasantly surprised.

Judy told me Rhea had gone to the door at about four o'clock, my usual arrival time, and waited, watching the door (I have no idea how she knew what time it was; maybe something on TV she recognized). After a few minutes she tired of that and went back to playing. Then went back to the door, watching and waiting. This was repeated several times until I finally got home. I had no idea she paid this much attention to my comings and goings, or that she even cared. I felt important to her again and it felt good to know that Daddy really was needed. This awareness of her's was really driven home to both Judy and I one night in the car. Rhea was a little over a year old, it was summer, and we were all hot. Three times before, Judy had suggested going for ice cream, spelling out the words so Rhea wouldn't know what she was saying. This night, however, we found out spelling wasn't going to work any more. Judy said, 'Let's go get some i-c-e . . .'�
'Ice cream!'� Rhea squealed from her car seat in the back. 'Ice cream!'�
The little girl paid attention.

* * *



'A daughter is a little girl that grows up to be a friend.'�
Ann Kelly



I was sure she hated me. From the time Rhea was eighteen months until just before she turned two she would have nothing to do with me. Confusion set in. What had I done? She would go to my dad, Judy's dad, uncles, other male friends, but not to me. Every time she went to someone else she would turn and look at me with what I took to be loathing. When I came into a room, she would run and hide, or cry for momma. She hated me; I knew it ' despised the very ground I walked on and the air I breathed. Daddy didn't matter any more.
This changed as we were preparing for the arrival of another child. It was about a month before her second birthday and I was re-finishing a dresser for the new baby; I thought I would try one more time to get back into her heart.
'Rhea, would you like to help me sand the dresser today?'�
'No.'�
'Are you sure? You know, when the baby gets older, you'll be able to tell it you helped daddy get this done.'� Her eyes lit up. 'Okay,'� she said, and ran out onto the porch. I showed her what was being done and how to do it and she went right to work. We have pictures of her, dressed like me, in blue jeans and a flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up, sanding the dresser and prepping it for paint. She has been my constant shadow ever since.
Rhea showed mothering instincts early on. Jeston, our second child, was born three weeks after her second birthday. She adored baby brother and wanted to help momma with him any way she could. She would help change diapers and hold him in the rocking chair, giving him his bottle and singing lullabies. It was amazing. Momma got a bit of a scare one morning when, after bathing the baby, she laid him in the middle of our bed. Leaving the room to get lotion and powder, she was only gone for a minute. When she came back, Jeston was gone. Knowing Rhea had to have picked him up, she said calmly, 'Rhea, where's Jeston?'�
'He's in here momma, on the floor.'�
Judy went into the living room and found the baby, wrapped in his blanket, lying on the floor kicking and smiling. Rhea had wanted to rock him so badly that she had pulled on the blanket until she could get him, wrapped him and picked him up, then carried him to the living room. She didn't realize how much baby brother weighed. Knowing she would never make it to the chair and not wanting to hurt him, she had gently laid him on the floor.
'Oh, sister. You can't do that. You're not quite big enough yet.'�
'I know momma. He's heavy!'�

* * *

'The future has a way of arriving unannounced.'�
George Will



'I think we need to get Rhea a training bra,'� Judy said one night as we were getting ready to turn in.
'Why? She's only eleven. She's not old enough to need that,'� I said.
'Haven't you seen her lately?'�
'Was I not at the dinner table tonight? Of course I saw her. She's still a little girl. She doesn't need one of those things yet; she's still playing with dolls, for cryin' out loud.'�
Not three days after that conversation we were at my mother's house burning a brush pile that had been accumulating for some months. As the fire grew more intense, I noticed some movement in the pile. A mother raccoon had moved in with her litter of kits and I was destroying their home. She tried to gather them but one got separated and left behind. I took it into the barn and put a wire basket over it to keep it safe, then called for the kids to come out and see it. By this time we had three kids and they all came sprinting from the house, Rhea in the lead, and I noticed something that almost stopped my heart. Seemingly over night, she had sprouted . . . yikes!! Holy cow, when did that happen?
'Oh, he's so cute! Can we keep him, daddy? Please? He'd make a great pet!'� They were all clamoring to keep the raccoon, even my mother, but cooler heads prevailed.
'No, we can't. The mother will be back for it. How do you think she will feel when she can't find it? How would your momma and I feel if one of you were taken and we couldn't find you? Don't you think we'd miss you?'�
'Yes,'� they all said somberly.
'That's how the mother raccoon will feel. We'll keep this one here until she comes back, then let it go.'�
They all agreed this would be the right thing to do and dropped the subject of ownership, still cooing how cute he was and how happy the mother would be that we'd taken care of her little one. I was surprised at how quickly this explanation had come to me considering the shock I was in over what I'd seen. My head was still spinning over it when we got home that night.
'You know that undergarment for Rhea we were talking about?'� I asked my wife.
'Yes.'�
'Get it. Tomorrow. She's not leaving the house again without one.'�
Judy smiled. 'Okay,'� she said, and promptly went to sleep. I laid there awake for a long time, my wife gently breathing in sleep, as I tried to wrestle with thoughts of how dramatically life was about to change for me.

* * *


'Watching your daughter being collected by her date feels like handing over a million dollar Stradivarious to a gorilla.'�
Jim Bishop


'Dad, can I go on a date tonight?'�
'No, you're too young.'�
'But I'm fourteen, and all my friends are dating! Why can't I?'�
'I just said ' you're too young. I'm not raising you to be a lemming.'�
A tear formed in the corner of her eye. 'Okay,'� she said, and went to her room to cry. Later that night Judy came to me.
'Why won't you let Rhea go on a date?'�
'Do I really have to explain this to you, too? She's still a little girl.'�
'She's older than you think, hon,'� she said and walked away, effectively ending the conversation.
For the next month I kept getting hints dropped my way that my little girl really was ready for dating. I refused to let go. My overactive imagination was way ahead of what was happening. First, dating; next would be a steady boyfriend; then marriage and grandkids. It was like I was being steamrolled by Time and I wasn't ready for it ' couldn't accept it. I was being left behind. 'I'm not old enough to have a datable daughter,'� I told myself. 'If I'm not old enough, then neither is she. This can't be happening.'� But it was and I was powerless to stop it.
After the steady barrage of hints and insinuations, I finally gave in. 'Okay,'� I said, 'you can go on one date a month, and the rest of the time you can go in carloads of friends. That's it.'� Carloads of friends? Who was I kidding? That was just another way of saying 'date.' I knew that even as the words were leaving my lips but, again, I refused to accept it.
'Oh, thank you, Daddy!'� She went running to her room to get ready for the night. I didn't know it but a boy had called to ask her out and she was returning his call. A smile came to my lips as I realized I could now do something I had always joked about. Unfortunately, Judy was one step ahead of me on this one.
'Don't you dare embarrass her tonight.'�
'What? Me?'� I asked innocently.
'Give me the key to the gun cabinet.'�
'Don't worry, I won't do it . . . tonight, anyway. You sure know how to spoil a guy's fun.'� Judy smiled and joined her daughter to help her get ready.
Here's a tip for any young man who may read this. You probably already know it intuitively, or someone may have told you but here it is anyway ' to a man with a daughter, all young men are hairballs in human form with more arms than an octopus. We dads do cruel (or perceived cruel) things to keep all of those arms in check for as long as possible, preferably forever. Our daughters are our jewels and we want to display them, but not have them touched. Sometimes we are joking and sometimes not; for safety's sake, it's best to not test the waters to find out. Even jokes can get serious quickly when dealing with a man's treasure. Realize, too, that you will never be good enough for our daughters. A boy attending any college in the world and carrying a four-point GPA still looks like a horror-movie monster coming for our little girls and we will defend with our lives if need be.
Rhea's date arrived right on time and I watched through the window as he opened the car door for her, then pulled slowly out of our driveway. As they left, I felt the cold marching of Time moving up my spine. My baby was growing up.
A few months after that first date I got a phone call from a young man.
'I hear you have a compressor. Could I borrow it to paint my car?'� Knowing him to be a responsible fellow I said yes, it would be fine. 'It's in the garage. Just come by for it when you're ready.'�
'I'd like to come over and see where you have it stored, if that's all right.'�
I smelled a rat.
'Sure, come on over and I'll show you where it's at.'�
Jon was there ten minutes after hanging up the phone. The rat had arrived. I took him into the garage and showed him where I kept my compressor, then we went into the family room and talked. And talked. I had known Jon's family for several years, his uncle being one of my closest friends, but I had never known him to be a chatty boy; he was usually more reserved. Not that night. He started by telling us (Judy and Rhea were also there) about what he wanted to do with his car, a Camaro. Then he moved on to tell us about his job and plans he had for the future, all the while making side-long glances at Rhea from the corner of his eye. If she left the room, his eyes followed, then again when she came back, never losing his place in the conversation. 'Compressor, my butt,'� I thought, smiling. 'I know why you're really here, you little twit.'�
When Jon left, I looked at my wife. 'That was odd,'� she said.
I smiled. 'Has he ever asked her out?'�
'Yes, he has, but Rhea turned him down. She can't stand him.'�
'Sounds like someone else I know,'� I said.
Judy smiled back. 'Yeah, it does, doesn't it?'�
Not long after that visit, Jon and Rhea became almost inseparable. I got to perform the stunt I had wanted to pull on some unsuspecting date, which will be explained later in this book. Suffice for now to know that when it happened Jon was stunned, Rhea was appalled, and Judy had to stifle her laughter when she saw the expressions on their faces. I started calling Jon 'The Boy,' a term he hated because of the amount of disgust in my voice when I said it. I knew he was going to take my little girl away from me, had known it since that first visit. To this day he promises me the compressor was the only thing on his mind that night. He wasn't aware of the subliminal signals he was sending out that I picked up on right away. It's my job ' I'm Dad; I'm supposed to watch for these things and know them when I see them. And like her mother before her, Rhea fell in love with someone she had absolutely detested while growing up.
As the time grew closer to their impending engagement I started drawing away from my daughter. She took this as me being mad at her or not accepting that fact that she would soon be leaving our house. On Saturday I was at the computer doing nothing in particular and she confronted me on this issue. She was very upset and said, 'You aren't going to lose me. I wish you could be as happy about this as I am. Don't you know I'm always going to be 'daddy's little girl?''�
'You have this all wrong, sis,'� I said. 'I know that in not long I won't be the one giving you instruction. That will be Jon's responsibility. If I don't pull away now, I may not be able to when it comes time. If that happens, I will become a meddling father-in-law and everyone's lives will be miserable. That would be wrong; I am just making sure I can let go.'� Tears came to her eyes and I stood and held her, stroking her hair to comfort her. 'I love you, Daddy,'� was all she could say. My eyes became moist as well as I said, 'I know. I love you, too, baby.'� This was at a time when I was very much into Country and Bluegrass music, so I sat down and composed a song for her. No one but Judy and Mom knew I was doing this. After a couple of revisions I had it saying what I wanted to say and printed it out. I then found a picture of Rhea at about a year old with me holding her, put this and the lyrics in a two-section frame and gave it to her for her birthday. When Dick read it he said, 'Son, I didn't know you had it in you.'�







Daddy's Little Girl
I cried the day that you were born,
Tears of joy ran down my face.
I knew right then that nothing
Could ever take your place;
You set my heart and soul a' whirl
With pride and joy that filled my world
And my heart knows you'll always be
Daddy's little girl

The child I knew is gone now,
A young lady stands in her place.
The joy is mixed with sorrow
In the tear-stains on my face.
You set his heart and soul a' whirl
With love and joy that fill his world,
But my heart knows you'll always be
Daddy's little girl.


I've never claimed to be a songwriter; I'm a storyteller. Some folks may think this is pretty corny but it gets the message across. I've always imagined Aaron Tippin performing this ' it doesn't hurt to dream.

* * *









'A son is a son 'til he takes him a wife; a daughter's a daughter all of her life.'�
Irish saying



The singers are done and the pianist starts the wedding march. One by one the bridesmaids head up the aisle to their waiting ushers. One by one they take their places and we wait alone, all eyes in the place on us. The crescendo of the march is reached and the musical announcement is proclaimed ' 'here comes the bride!'�
Forty paces; that's what I've been told by others who have made this walk before me. The way it is described, you'd think the father of the bride is being led to his execution. That's not how it feels to me. I see it as a new beginning; a new stage in life that holds untold adventure. I don't count. It's not even on my mind. Instead, I marvel at how beautifully the church has been decorated to this occasion. The small bouquets of daisies and pink carnations with their ivy and white ribbon adornment on the ends of the pews; the rails of the pulpit are draped in white lace with bouquets of multi-colored flowers ' coral an yellow, white and lavender. To the sides of the pulpit are larger bouquets of the same flowers bedecked with ivy and lace; in the center of the pulpit stands an archway with the same floral embellishment.
We reach the end of our walk. I turn to give Rhea a kiss good-bye and deliver her over to the young man who has won her heart. They stand together, vows exchanged, and the pronouncement is made ' 'man and wife'� ' and she has flown.



From the book 'The Circle . . . Stories of Living' by L.D. Porter
Copyright 2006 L.D. Porter. All rights reserved.

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