Daddy’s Little Girl
by Danyelle Jorgensen, Sept 1985

    It all starts at birth.  Daddy’s little girl.  Tiny, perfect, vulnerable. 
    The joy fills his being until everyone can see it; tingles even to the tips of his hair.  He stands, a sentinel, at the maternity room window, smiling like an idiot for the new woman in his life.
    “ Which one is yours?” asks a passing observer.
    Daddy points to his new angel and tells the man how proud he is of his women.
    “She’s a beauty.  You’re a lucky guy.”
    The smile broadens as his teeth threaten to fall out of his head.  Then- realization. ‘She’s a beauty’.  Some other man had said it His eyes grow wide as comprehension dawns that this is only the first in a long line of animals that would be looking at his baby.  Dementia threatens to overthrow his composure.  Jealousy creeps into his throat No way, he thinks to himself.  I must protect her from men like him, the dirty beasts.  He knows what goes through men’s minds.  Huh, huh; after all he used to be a man.  Now, he was a “daddy”.
    His eyes glaze over as images of that first kiss fills his fevered brain: the manipulation, the posturing.  THE HORMONES!  Oh my God!  One day she will have to grow up, won’t she?
    He moves catatonically to the waiting room and melts helplessly into the nearest chair.  His eyes fill with dark clouds of impending doom as his mind grasps for some insight into the future.  The clouds part on an early morning kitchen scene.  He and his wife sitting at the table, engaged in pleasant conversation, waiting for their pride and joy to come bounding in from her nights repose.  Breakfast.  Birds singing in the trees, sunlight streaming through the window as if to bless the perfect scene.  Daddy’s bright-faced little girl breezes into the breakfast nook, “Mommy, I think I’ve started my period!”
    Steaming caffeine explodes from his tender nostrils and he chokes on what he honestly believes will be his final meal before he dies.  Her period.  Not his baby.  Not daddy’s little girl!  Female hands rush to the rescue, pounding him between the shoulder blades their entreaties fall on deaf ears.  His mind retreats to a more comforting realm.  The realm of “Logic”.  A man’s best friend, yeah.
    ‘These things eventually happen’, Logic tries to tell him.  But Logic is on the losing team this day.  Her Period.  “That-time-of-the-month”.  “THE CURSE”.  That’s not supposed to happen until she grows up.  After all, she’s only ah, ah, twelve!
    ‘Yes, but it could have happened when she were eleven; or even ten.’ Logic whispers.  ‘He has sisters, he knows that,’ he realizes irritatedly.  Dejectedly, he gazes into a mirror and notices his first grey hair.
    “ I think I’m going to call mom.”  The first in a long series of calls for help.
 
    Thirteen.  Baby’s thirteenth birthday and the Wife has invited all of her little friends. How nice. A bunch of little girls running around, talking about games and homework.  Daddy drives into the garage and is met by the Wife at the door.  He kisses her and tells her how good it is to finally be home.  He feels all warm and safe in his world.  He walks into his living room.  Daddy’s little girl rushes into his arms.
    “Mom just bought me my first real bra today, isn’t that cool!  No more ‘trainers’ for me”. She kisses him on the cheek and runs back to her friends.
    The blood drains from his petrified face and his hairline recedes another inch.   Trance-like, he glances around the pandemonium around him.  Girls, wearing jeans; no frills, no bows, no ponytails.  Jeans!  Miniature women, and they were all wearing bras. He hears voices crack behind him and turns in horrified acknowledgment.  Boys! There were boys in his house.  More to the point, at his baby’s party!
    Standing erect, he numbly walks back to the garage door.  He can feel himself leaving behind him a trail of his once luxurious hair.
    “Honey, where are you going?  It’s your daughter’s birthday.”
    The words tumble from his frozen lips, “Gun store”.

    Sweet-sixteen and Daddy has added Maalox to his list of “things to buy”.  Baby’s sixteenth birthday and she wants a car.
    “Most definitely not!”, he tells her.  He gives her excuses about insurance payments and ‘accident-rates-among-teenagers’, but deep inside he knows the real reason.  He puts his hand to his stomach as he sprouts another ulcer.  He won’t let her have a car because he knows what happens in cars!  After all, he used to be a man.
    “You’re not dating until you’re thirty-five, is that clear!” he barks.
    He cleans his gun.
   
    College graduation and Daddy is bald, pot-bellied and no longer holds any opinions of real value.  He gazes fondly upon his little girl in her cap and gown as she receives her degree.  Pride washes over him like a gentle tide and he smiles.  She’s all grown up now and he still has all of his teeth.  Daddy’s little girl rushes over to him, degree in hand, and throws her arms around his neck.  He smiles broadly into her little face.
    “Daddy, I’d like you to meet so-and-so.  I’m getting married!”  Good-bye teeth.
    No wonder men die before women.
   
    The clouds converge and Daddy emerges from his futuristic reverie as the nurse places his little girl into his eager arms.  Holding her close, her first words, her first steps, her first little sneakers and giggles tumble excitedly from within his imagination to the front of his brain. He gazes lovingly into the tiny cherubic face and smiles.  Pride, love and finally peace soothes his trembling heart.
    “What a great time we’re going to have”.