Today I have taken the plunge deeper into debt, and in doing so, have totally fooked myself when it comes time for Kacie to start dating.
You see, she’s getting braces. Right now, actually.
Braces are something Kacie’s wanted for a while. I tell my daughter, like most fathers tell their own daughters, that I think she’s gorgeous. She says that’s not why she wants braces. Instead she says that she just wants to have better teeth, a better smile. I can buy that, I suppose.
For me though, it’s Kacie’s eyes that have always had a way of doing the smiling for her, if that makes sense. It’s something I’ve loved about her from Day One – the way the corners of her eyes crinkle just a tiny bit and her blue eyes seem to become even bluer when she’s happy. But now, because we’ve succumbed to doing right by her teeth, Traci and I are arming our firstborn with a toothy smile that’s going to make her even more beautiful than she already is. I may as well start saving now for the wedding. Sorry, Milky Way. I can no longer afford to entertain you or your other friends from the candy barrio.
Last night I asked Kacie if she was nervous. She wasn’t.
I asked if she thought it’d hurt. She wasn’t worried about that either – she just wanted to finally be able to punt the spacer she’d been using the last two weeks. She said that’s what hurt.
I asked if she was afraid of getting teased. I called her “metal mouth” and “brace face” and something else that I can’t think of offhand. I wanted to test her, to see if she was ready for the possible ridicule that could come with such a commitment.
“Is that all you’ve got, Dad?” She wasn’t fazed. “You’re a writer. I thought you’d be better at this.”
“It’s ‘Daddy,’ just so you know.”
“Dad,” she said with a soft, emphatic tone.
She smiled. My heart tried to give in.
“Um, no. Try again.”
“Fine. And no, I’m not afraid.”
“Okay, I’m glad. Now go finish your homework. But it’s ‘Daddy.’ Got it?”
“Got it,” she said, disappearing into the hallway. “Dad…”
Why wasn’t Kacie nervous or worried or afraid like I was? How, at twelve, could she be so confident about herself and the decision she’d made to get them? Why can’t I be as confident at times as she is?
And who gave her permission to stop calling me “Daddy?” Not me, of course. Was this some evil plot orchestrated by my wife because the kids stopped calling her “Mommy” some time ago? Sorry. I know. Focus.
So now I’m waiting, anxiously, for someone to call or email or text or something and say that everything’s okay…that despite having several months’ salary wired into her mouth now, my little girl is good to go – no different from when I saw her just a few hours ago when I poked my head in her bedroom and blew her a kiss goodbye before leaving for work.
More important than her well-being, I need Kacie to hurry up while she’s still groggy and sign the agreement I had drafted this morning that specifically forbids her from falling in love and leaving me one day because some dopey kid thinks she has a beautiful smile and can’t live without her. It’s going to happen. Just ask my father-in-law.
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