Love Letter to Rachel

In 53 minutes, my little girl will begin her preschool graduation ceremony. I am going to try not to blubber like an idiot.

I know she is going to be up there reciting the most holy Hebrew prayer. I know she is going to sing in that sweet voice of hers. I assume she will receive some sort of diploma.

Has it really been more than five years since the nurses held her up in the air and I heard her take her first breaths of life? I remember the fear I felt the first two days, wondering how I was going to take care of this nascent being. Now I can't imagine what life was like before she was a part of it.

She shares Rebecca and my offbeat senses of humor. But she can't stand it when I change the lyrics of songs she knows in an effort to be funny. She admonishes me, "Those aren't the words, daddy!"

I cheer whenever she looks at a word and figures out what it is. I share the enthusiasm when she is excited and ache for the lows she expresses when some classmate slights her.

I watch her glide gracefully across the floor in a ballet recital and I comfort her when she stumbles into a table leg or some object that jumped in front of her. I tell her that next time we buy 200-dollar plus pair of glasses, we do not expect her to chew off the nosepieces so she can't wear them.

I know that one day, maybe, she will no longer sleep with 20 or so stuffed animals all around her. She won't imagine herself as SuperGirl, although in my mind, she will always be one. I can't imagine she'll still be feeding weeds to an imaginary hippopotamus five years from now.

One day, she'll be doing her best not to be seen with me. But for now, one of her favorite places to be is on my shoulders. There she will remain for as long as I live. My wife and I will always be her biggest boosters.

I gaze across my desk at work. There is her baby picture. All that hair at one day old. There she is again, with a chubby toothless grin. Another shot, a baby girl styling in shades with her mom. Striking a pose on the beach. Striking a pose in her bed. Rachel before she took the scissors to her own hair. Rachel after she cut her waist-length hair. Waving at me at a restaurant with her ever present Cheerios on the table. Smiling with her mom; their smiles and eyes look so similar.

Today is a milestone in my little girl's life. She has made every day of my life a milestone. I love you, Rachel!