An Open Letter To A Daughter From Her Daddy

Post by Good Times Dad

Dear The Rocket Queen,

I've wanted to write this for some time but have never gotten around to it. You're two years old but you're growing up so quickly. It seems like only yesterday that the doctor pulled you out of Mommy's uterus and held you up for me to see. After having your two brothers, my first thought was, "Where's his penis?" And then it dawned on me that we finally had a little girl, and I could not have been happier.

I would say that it's not possible to love you more than I do right now, but I know that it's not true, because I love you more every day. I want to remember every minute of this, every joke you make, every smile. Time is moving too fast and I want to bottle this and have you be two forever. I know that that's not possible, so allow me to write about you, the things I love, and the things I'll miss.


For instance, I know that someday in the not too distant future, it will not be okay for me to squeeze your tushy the way I can now. I love that I can hold your cute tushy in one hand, and make you laugh when you're brushing your teeth while I sing "I've got your whole tushy, in my hands" to the tune of "He's got the whole world, in his hands." Someday soon, you won't want to run around the house naked, but for right now, it's just too cute. I love that you think it's time to run as soon as you get naked. I love that when we take you out of your high chair and strip off your clothes after a particularly messy meal, you will promptly rip your diaper off and sprint out of the kitchen. As much as I'm always worried that you'll pee, or worse, poop, all over the floor, it's absolutely adorable.

As much as I DON'T want you in the bathroom when I'm taking a dump, I love that you want to be in there with me. I love that you walk in, huge smile on your face (I'd call it a shit-eating grin but that just seems wrong), often a stuffed animal tucked under your arm, set up the stool in the corner and sit yourself down. Someday soon, you won't want to be in the bathroom with me while I'm sitting on the toilet. Someday soon (and hopefully sooner rather than later), you won't want to stand as close to me as possible while I'm taking a leak, and you won't want to try and reach out to try and grab the stream (thankfully, I've always been able to thwart your attempts).

I love that when I walk in the door from work, no matter where you are in the house, you come running, a smile lighting up your face and arms outstretched. I love how you bury your face in my shoulder and want nothing more (usually) than to be held. I love that you say things like, "Love my daddy."

Someday soon, you probably won't want to spend hours doing errands with me. Like your brothers, you probably won't want to go to Wegmans with me on a Sunday afternoon (unless, like your brothers, I promise you can have one of the free cookies). But for now, I love that you love going with me. I love that you sit in the cart and randomly pull me close enough so you can kiss my arm. I love that you sit in the cart and babble on and on about balloons or the train that circles the Kosher and beer areas.

I love that our neighbor's dog, Curry, licked your lips like four months ago, but that you still tell everyone the story like it happened yesterday.

I love that you spend much of your time pretending to be a dog, and that you're so committed to it. You will literally spend hours of the day crawling around like a dog, and will fetch a ball in your mouth if someone throws it, crawling back to the thrower and dropping it at his or her feet. Someday soon, you won't WANT to pretend to be a dog and won't want to eat pretend food from my hand or lap up pretend water from an imaginary dish.

At some point, I will no longer hold you in the glider and sing to you before you go to sleep. That's one of my favorite times of day, those minutes when you're sitting in my lap, milking your sippy of oat milk to make it last longer while I sing you standard, age-appropriate bedtime songs like "The Gay Bar Song" or "I Will Buy You A New Life." You might not always want me to sing to you, but I love it and I love that you love it.

Someday soon, and I know it's coming sooner rather than later (partially because it's begun), you will start to call us mean when we don't let you have exactly what you want exactly when you want it (though that's mainly Mommy's fault, I've tried to give in as much as I can). As much as I want to give you everything, and I do, I really, really do, I can't. That's partially because right now I can't afford to give you everything but mainly because you will be a better person if you learn that not everything is a given, that, like the Rolling Stones famously sang, you can't always get what you waaaant. It is my job to make sure that you grow from the sweetest, smartest, most adorable little (baby) girl in the word into the sweetest, smartest, nicest, most beautiful young woman in the world (you know, like Mommy). It is my job to make sure you are safe and healthy and well-rounded. It is my job to spoil you but to make sure that you never act spoiled.

So here are some promises I vow to (try to) keep:

I promise to always be there for you, no matter what. If you need me, whether you are in kindergarten or college, I will be there.

I promise to sign you up for soccer and baseball, to take you to hockey games or princesses on ice. Whether you like monster trucks or Barbie dolls, I promise to sit on the floor and play with you.

I promise to make sure you have the self-confidence to always know who you are and to know where you're going. I promise to do everything I can to make sure that you know you are second to none.

I promise to make sure you know how you should be treated by boys, and how to kick their asses if they do you wrong. I promise to make sure you know that your self-worth will never be determined by any boy, and that, as beautiful as you are and will be, there will always be so much more to you than looks.

I promise that, no matter what you think, I will always be the most important man in your life. I don't care what anyone tells you, your future husband included. I'm the man.

I promise that you will come to be known, either in junior high school or high school as a "Butterdaddy."What's that you ask? When talking about you, guys will say "That The Rocket Queen, I really like her. She is SO cute and funny. But her daddy..."

I promise that you will NEVER enter a pageant, unless you're doing a research project, or writing a book about how ridiculous they are. Seriously, It's non-negotiable.

I promise that I will always pick you up and kiss your booboo when you skin a knee or bump your head, and I will always hold you when you cry.

I promise that I will teach you to drive, hit a baseball and ride a bike. And as I've already told you, if they're still touring when you're old enough, I will take you to see Everclear in concert.

There are so many things I want to write and say, but I'm exhausted and can't think of them all. But here's one last promise for now...

One day, when you're older, probably in junior high school, you will undoubtedly ask me to drive you somewhere. Maybe it will be to the mall to meet your friends, or a party or a school dance. And as I'm driving you there, you will no doubt ask me to drop you off a block away, or anywhere but the front door, because you won't want to be seen with your dad. And when you ask me that, I will silently nod my head and try to fight back the single tear that will want to break free and roll down my cheek. And then I will drive right up to the front door, turn off the car, get out and walk around to open your door for you. I will then hold your hand and walk you into the mall, the dance, the party. And then I will say something along the lines of "I love you SO much The Rocket Queen Bunny. Daddy loves you! Be a good girl and have fun with your friends, and don't forget to take your tummy medicine!" loudly enough for everyone (at least in the general vicinity) to hear while giving you a big hug and kiss on the cheek.

And then I'll probably get back in the car and drive home with a smile on my face and tears in my eyes.

Love,

Daddy

Good times.

Who is Good Times Dad? I'm a former sports-writer, current attorney and full-time dad to Axl, Slash, and The Rocket Queen. I'm also an unapologetic fan of the Yankees, Giants, Knicks, Islanders, 80's hair metal and stupid comedies. Come check me out at goodtimesdad.com.