Let me tell you about little girls. My first experience with little girls was when I was little. I remember that they were really cute and always kicked my ass. Kick my ass, drag me around and then throw stuff at me as I ran away.
I remember they were always smarter. Always. And I was a very smart kid. They always got better grades. They always got 'A's and they always turned their homework in a day early. God, I hated that. On the bright side, they weren't throwing stuff at me anymore.
About that time in my life, I swore 'em off. No little girls for me! Forts, fights and farts with an occasional camping trip or gaping wound. Then I got a baby sister. Another little girl. I was the designated babysitter. Suddenly little girls took on another meaning in my life.
Fast forward to when my daughter was born. Then, and only then, did I finally understand what it is about little girls - they are fearless. Boys cling to mothers - little girls take after their fathers. Get dirty, wrestle, climb trees. Which brings me closer to where I was headed.
I was washing dishes one summer afternoon and happened to glance out the window above the kitchen sink. The house was literally on the beach on the central Oregon Coast and situated in a small cluster of homes. Next door was a bungalow with a poplar tree twice as tall. My daughter was at the very top and blowing in the ocean breeze wind half-full gale.
Her older brother was at the base of that tree begging her to come down. He was five - she was three. I was freaked out. I yelled out the door to my son 'You let her get up there - now get her down'. There were other words I said but they were not very nice words. He got the message.
I will never forget watching as he coaxed her down one branch at a time - all the while blowing around in that wind like a bobber. She was fearless. Never missed a step. She hurried so she wouldn't get in trouble. She was smiling when she hit the door. We all had a nice lunch.
Happy Birthday, Caly Bea.