Daddy’s Little Plan

(Written in 2004)

I’m one full month into this whole fatherhood business and two things have become quite clear.  First of all, with her bright red hair and big blue eyes, The Girl is just the most precious little thing you’ve ever seen.  I never noticed just how ugly other babies were until now.  Second, Lauren and I are incredibly fortunate that we had a girl.  With two nieces I only have experience with girls and just don’t know what I’d do with a boy.  Teach him to throw a ball?  He’d be wishing he was a girl after all the ribbing he’d get.

Lauren on the other hand is excited because after years of never owning a Barbie, she finally has the ultimate doll to dress and undress all day long.  The Girl owns more outfits than she could ever conceivably wear, and Lauren is determined to squeeze her into every one of them on a daily basis.  I plead with her to please just let our daughter sleep, but all I get in return is, “Look how cute these little sandals are.”  I’m about ready to scold her with some Freudian line about transference when I realize, “Hey, those sandals are pretty stinkin’ cute!  And with that little yellow sundress!  Oh my god, look how ugly that baby next to her is!”

The Girl already has me wrapped around that little finger of hers and man do we look good together.  At a wedding last weekend the photographer stopped what he was doing to snap picture after picture of the two of us during the father-daughter dance.  I think we even stole the bride’s thunder a little.  Sorry Carla.  But as I rocked back and forth to the music, smiling down at my daughter sleeping peacefully in my arms, I couldn’t help but think, “Does every father-daughter dance have to be to this stupid Celine Dion song?”  I didn’t know if Carla picked this schmaltzy stand-by because she couldn’t think of anything better, or if (even more horrifying) Celine Dion actually reminds her of how much she loves her dad?

Either way I decided that things would be different for me and my daughter.  I hope I’ll have the grace and composure to deal with her dating and getting married, but by-god we will not be forced to dance to “Because You Loved Me” or any thing else so generic.  Not that there’s anything wrong with “Daddy’s Little Girl” or “Butterfly Kisses”, but I’m a writer for crying out loud!  People expect me to be you know, like original and stuff.

I started making a mental catalogue of every song I knew the lyrics to.  Songs I could turn into lullabies.  My plan was to embed a few select songs into my daughter’s subconscious so that by the time she’s old enough to talk she’ll start asking for them by name.  Then in twenty or thirty years when we step onto the floor for our special dance, she will have requested that special song that her daddy always used to sing to her.  And as I shed a few token tears over letting my little girl go, inside I’ll be smiling at my own maniacal genius.

The real issue now is which songs to pick.  Each one must fit two simple criteria.  They must be slow enough for a father-daughter dance.  “Mr. Jones” makes a great lullaby when I sing it, but the Counting Crows’ version doesn’t exactly give it a bittersweet beat.  And most importantly, the song must be in my range.  It does neither of us any good if The Girl hates a song because her dad could never hit the high notes.

Every night at bedtime I plant new seeds.  I have some specific songs in mind, but I’m keeping her options open: Collin Raye, Alison Krauss, Blues Traveler, The Grateful Dead, Kid Rock…  One of these artists could be serenading us at The Girl’s wedding.  And I just know everyone will be looking at us saying “Oh, how precious.”

Of course deep down, as they look at The Girl in her wedding dress, what they’ll really be thinking is, “I never realized just how ugly my own daughter is.”