My little girl is not so little

I had one of those weird moments this last weekend.  A kind of moment I think only Dads have with their little girls.  Maybe Moms have them, maybe you have them with boys, or maybe it was just the moment.

Lauren had her first Winter Formal Saturday night.  Holly worked very hard on a dress and it turned out perfect. Cameron's parents brought him over for a quick photo session then I whisked them off to dinner.  So far, so good.  As I dropped them off, I watched them walk into the restaurant and that's when it happened.  I suddenly realized that my little girl was walking away into a nice restaurant without me.  Full of the confidence that her mother and I instilled in her.  Yes, I gave her cash and reviewed tipping.   She had seen us and had herself ordered food before, so I knew that would work out. However, surely she still needed me for something. Didn't she?

She needed me to change her diaper.  She needed me to steady her on her bike the first time. She needed me to help her with her homework.  Why doesn't she need me now?  I watched them enter the restaurant.  It was time for me to drive away, but I couldn't.  Any moment, she would run out and "need" me for something.  I slowly lifted my foot off the brake and the car began to roll.  Through the window I saw them greeted by the hostess and taken to their table.  Though they were out of my sight, the vision of them still lingered there.  The more the image faded, the more the car began to inch forward.  Finally, I was moving down the street and rounding the corner.

I just wasn't ready to leave.  Giving in to the inner-caregiver, I rounded the block.  I was beyond rationalizing this now.  I just wanted one more look.  I wanted to see them seated.  The car slowed in front of the restaurant as I strained to see them.  Darn those dimly lit, fancy places!

I drove on this time.  I was needed at another restaurant.  The people of Haiti needed my support after all.  As I strolled into the benefit dinner to the warm embrace of waiting friends, I knew I just left something behind that I would only ever see again in those quiet corners of my memory.