Done To Perfection

My daughter turns 20 today. No more a teenager. 21's a bigger deal but I'm always happy when my daughter has another birthday.

I'm among the most fortunate of all parents. My daughter has grown up virtually trouble free. She's been conscientious, industrious, fairly well self-motivated, and never spent a night in jail-- at least not that she's shared with me.

I can tell you this: I certainly know enough not to take it for granted. I'm happy to report that after 20 years I don't know what it's like to have a daughter who doesn't come home. I don't know what it's like to cope with a pregnancy in high school, or before. I don't know what it's like to watch as my child drifts away with the wrong crowd in the wrong direction. Father's like me are among the happiest guys on earth!

Sitting out by our little makeshift campfire this evening I paid homage to Kels. I toasted a marshmallow just the way she likes it. Where she finds the patience to sit and carefully nurse that highly flammable confection to a toasty brown I'll never know. I'm a flamer and always have been. Give me a marshmallow, a stick, and a campfire and that baby is a flaming char-ball in seconds flat: Peel the top layer and she's ready to submerse again. Not Kels. She'll concentrate and remain vigilant that her little treasure slowly tan. No smoke. No  flame. Done to perfection. Just like her first twenty years.

Happy birthday, kiddo!