Daddy's little girls

Daddy's little girls

A dad with a daughter and a forehead sans furrows is a rare permutation.

This one is for all the lovely ladies. Shrink your brains back to the time when a fluff of candy floss was still a big delight and answer this- Who was your first hero?

Without much competition, daddy is sure to win hands down. No matter how much the popular psychology underrates our heroes on the mellower parameters of love and tenderness, the beautiful bond which they share with their daughters, whispers much to the contrary.

While programming a girl’s mother with an infinite supply of anxiety, God must have foreseen the hyper tensed gene that was eventually bound to erupt; hence, fathers happened. Luckily then, many a jittery girl out there still bundled the guts to drive a car after that  accident as he sat reassuringly on the passenger seat, or banished her fear of depths when he took her scuba diving.

Every mother chewed her fingernails down to the pink skin through all this, but it was daddy dear who nurtured his girl’s fearless self.

This freedom granted by him should never be misconstrued as an absence of concern. In fact, history of anxiety has seen fewer creatures as apprehensive as a daughter’s dad. His ears will be forever stuck on the doorbell’s ring whenever his angel is out for a late night party (going to which will itself herald a marathon debate.) No dress in her wardrobe will see the light of the college campus without passing his mandatory ‘quantity check.’ Friends on her list are always under his scanner, being screened for any signs f ‘funny’ activities.

Sometimes he even pulls a James Bond 007, surreptitiously going through her phone on the pretext of wanting to learn about the latest applications. A dad with a daughter and a forehead sans furrows is a rare permutation. And this protective halo stays with his daughter lifelong, age no bar. Most of the married female readers will recall not being able to think of any other place to drop their heads on other than that secure shoulder when some midnight argument brewed with hubby dear.

Another trademark dad trait is to be able to empathize with his girl’s troubled mind every time she walks through the markets during the blissful seasons of ‘fresh arrivals’ and ‘50 per cent off’. He truly understands her desperation to lug back an entire truckload even though her wallet threatens to sputter en route to the cash counter.

While the lady of the house makes no effort at hiding her shock and firmly preaches temperance whenever such bouts of overindulgence transpire, he merely winks softly, easing all of her guilt before slipping his plastic card under her pillow like a Santa Claus.
These almost universal memoirs narrate only one half of any family story. Mommy is a daughter’s best friend for life, and a dad’s affection is just as deep for his sonny boy. But then, we are our daddy’s little girls, and he is our indisputable hero.