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Daughler Dcarest

Tlić Iittle one adores you now, Dad but bracc yourself for the next chaptcr By GA.RRISON KEilLOR Aug. 30, 2004

My sandy-haircd, gap-toothed 6-ycar-old daughter got a pair of cleatcd black shocs and shjn guards so that shc could attcnd socccr camp this month, which she wants to do bccause her pal Charlie Hooley is going, and that is how thc twig is bcnt around łicre. The dad has littlc to say about it. Fatc is cverylłung. Thanks to a dog that jumped on her when she was 3, she is terrified of dogs, and thus arc we spared thc curse of dog ownership.

Almost cvcry day my Iittle girl climbs into her old man's lap and puts her littlc arms around his neck and lays her head against his chest and mclts his hcart like cheese under the broiler. Shc comes honie from socccr and bursts into the liouse and crics "Daddy!" and runs and clasps his knecs for perhaps four seconds, or three, and tliis is the Hallclujah Chorus and thc Water Lilies at Givcrny of parenthood. And soraetimcs she says, "I lovc you so much." This is so indescribably lovcly that the old man feels drcad in his hcart: When will this Goldcn Agc end, and what comcs after it?

A littlc girl could bc givcn a pony ridc by her aunt Kay, and tlić virus of horscwomansliip cntcrs her blood, and tlicreaftcr, ćvcry Sahirday moming for the ncxt 12 years, I must drive her to Foxcroft Stables and watcli Emmett, the chain-smoking, bourbon-soakcd stableman, help my child up onto Crimson Blaze, whogallops away, leaping ovcr hedges and fcnces, and after 15 minutes, I necd a powcrful tranąuilizer, the kind they'd administer to a horse. Or a Iittle girl could pick up a bockey stick and sense its potential for violence, and tlius 10 years latcr, I have a 6-ft., 180-lb. defenscwoman under my roof who loves to bang into pcople and knock their molars loosc. My daughter is no shrinking violct. The other day 1 saw thc littlc darling try to throltlc a 6-year-old boy. Shc threw him down and was about to kick him in the pancrcas. I callcd her namc from the kitchen window, and she smiled a cherubie smile and pokcd him with her toe, just so hc'd know what was on her nrind. The old man shudders to see tliis.

My littlc girl is not into Sharing. She is a zcalous guardian of her vast inventory of toys and games, her collection of morę tlian 14,000 stuffed animals, evcn her handciaftcd-from-natural-material playthings, givcn to her by liberals, which of coursc she ncver plays with. When another child ventures onto her turf and shows an interest in, say, one tiny stuffed llama madę by Pcruvian peasants from organie wool, the darling snatchcs it away, and her parents have to browbcat her into civilily. The old man worrics about this. I can visualize her as a selfish, overbearing snot—visions of thc Bush daughter in the limo, her tongue stuck out—a royal pain in the ass. I brood about tliis.

A 6-ycar-old can be managed rather well. My littlc girl, tbanks to her vigilant mother, does not watch tclcvision (cxcept for approvcd vidcos) or cat fast food (cxcept when with hor aunt) or drink soda pop (clifto) or use foul language. She wears clean clothes and is fed fresh fruit and vcgctables and that sort of thing. She is taken to kriddie conccrts of classical musie and to children's theater. At bedtime, with a littlc prompting, she bows her head and prays for pcople. Her teeth are clean and bright. Herc I am, an old Democrat who's 150% in favor of public education, so what did I do with my own child? Sent her to a privatc Christian school, of coursc. Cali mc a hypocrite. We lookcd at a public school and dccidcd to send her to a place wherc Miss Clavel is still in charge and childrcn procecd in quict lines into thc building covered with vincs, and of coursc, my daughter loves it thcrc. Likc most other kids, shc is fond of order and rules and schcdules. It's just likc my old Sunnyvale School, a ąuiet pond of books and pen and paper. But a parent stands on a prccipicc. Adolescencc looms ahead, which nowadays can begin at around thc agc of 8. Drug dealers lurk in tlić alley; nihilist rock n' roli wafts up from the storm sewer; the culturc of covetousncss is evcrywhcrc.

It is an act of optimism to bring a child into the world. Of coursc, lust enters into it too, and ignorancc and sometimes mi.\cd drinks, but a parent is, cx officio, a believer in thc fundamcntal goodness of lifc. In a world of superstition, cruelty and despair, thcrc is also friendship, fresh sweet com, theater, the North Shorc of Lakę Superior, so many deljghtful things that tip the balance. Is tliis not so? The parent prays that it is so. 1 hear my daughter in thc yard, laughing. She is on a swing, swinging so high that lier head hits thc lcaves of thc applc tree, and thc wcightless moment at tlie hcight of thc backswing is what makes her laugh out loud. Tliat moment when joy and terror mcct. A religious moment. I want to go out and tell ber to be carclul, and T dont. Exuberance! Exubcrance! 'lbe joy of lifc. For that, you need indcpcndence.