June 10, 2000

There's nothing more sobering than walking along Queen Street and hearing a "wolf" whistle.  And knowing it's not directed at yourself, but toward your daughter.  

     She usually covers herself with large and baggy styled clothing.  Yesterday however, the air had a humid-warm quality that encourages people to shed layers of clothing and add a spring to their step, as the possibility of summer actual being here presents itself.  my daughter finally conceded and pulled her fuzzy blue sweater off.  And much to my chagrin, dismay, pride and delight, (hey i "made" her!) there's a rather curvaceous young lady underneath all those layers.

     Why those particular emotions?  Well, chagrin and dismay because all that smooth skin and the flat tummy served to remind me of how much older i am, and of my own flat-tummy days gone by.  Pride and delight because there is a delightful and warm and caring female in this lovely package, and she's *my* daughter.  Okay, so i'm a tad possessive.  When i heard the whistle my first response was "hey back off buddy!"  And then i glanced at her face to see if she had understood or acknowledged what had just occurred.  She was very carefully looking straight ahead; i think pretending she hadn't heard it.

     "You just got whistled at.  You know that don't you?" i queried.

     Her chin tilted down further.  "I know."  And said nothing further.  But i was still watching her face and suddenly, very slowly, i saw just the hint of a pleased grin play upon her lips.  i knew then, not to pursue the topic.  She knows.

     Strange to think of her as a woman.  Strange pride i have about the whole thing.  Mixed up high and low emotions that i wouldn't trade, for anything in the world.

     She's so lovely.  

     i'm so lucky.