This one kicked off the covers in her crib each morning and wailed, "Daaaaadddddyyyyy," and her mom would just smile and roll back over in bed. "She wants you."
Unlike her older sister, Carley refused to sit still in a high chair at a restaurant. So, you guessed it, Daddy became a proficient one-armed eater.
It was Daddy who saved her with the Heimlich maneuver when she sucked in a grape at Adventure Island; Daddy who marched an hour up a mountain in Yellowstone when Carley realized after having hiked down that she left a "magic" rock beside a snowfield where we had stopped to play. It was Daddy who retraced the toddler's steps at the beach to miraculously find the tiny Fozzie bear toy she couldn't live without.
Now it's Daddy who could use some help.
My little girl, the only other one in my house who can appreciate a tight spiral or Pedro Martinez' change-up, is about to leave the nest. This week she will be among the thousands of local high school seniors to graduate, and then she will follow the path of her sister to the University of Central Florida in Orlando.
This is all good and natural, and it leaves me proud. But it is also sad and requires some adjustments, including a concerted effort for a man and woman married 32 years to begin acting like we did BK (before kids). Fortunately we still like each other - a lot.
The quiet will take some getting used to. When the phone rings now, we'll know it is a solicitor. Nobody calls mom and dad. I'll actually be able to listen to a Steely Dan CD without having a teenager running through the house shrieking about my outdated music. The computer will be available. Beds will be made. The house will be clean.
Some friends who have already bid adieu to their kids insist that we will quickly come to appreciate these changes. Orlando is close enough and we raised our girls to be independent and aware. As long as they are healthy and happy, that should be enough.
Still, this is hard.
It was easier when Jennifer left, knowing we still had four more years for No. 2. But those were the quickest four years of my life. We blinked and a gangly little girl turned into a young woman excited about all the opportunities that lie ahead at a major university. She's ready, even if we're not.
A few weeks ago, I attended a reunion of folks who went to Munich American High School in Germany during the 1960s. As my brother and I walked into the Menger Hotel in San Antonio, Texas, we looked around the ballroom and had the same reaction: "Who are all these old people?"
The organizers had prepared name tags with photos from our school days, a good thing considering none of us resembled our former selves. Beatles haircuts are not only long gone, so is most of our hair. We fondly recalled the old days of drinking liters of rich German beer at the Hofbrau Haus but conceded doing that today would mean ironing our faces in the morning.
Though we all thought we were pretty much grown up, we know now that high school days offered a final shelter against the real world. How our parents must have worried, watching the buildup in Vietnam. A vacant table, complete with table settings and name tags, sat unoccupied near the dance floor at the reunion, a memorial to all those kids who did not survive.
This week we will celebrate another graduation. We'll give thanks for our kids making it this far and enjoy their optimism and excitement. But we're the worried parents now, and world events are no more settled. There is great danger away from the nest.
Daddy's Girl - and all you other graduates - had best be ready.
