Little Girls Grow Up All Too Quickly

She called me on the car phone Thursday afternoon to give me the news. I jump every time the car phone rings because it rings rarely, and when it does, it’s usually bad news. The computers are down at the paper; somebody is in the hospital; the toilet has overflowed at home. It’s always something.

“Daddy!”

Oh, Lord, another wreck. My 17-year-old daughter, Kasey, has made a habit out of running into things in the little convertible I bought her in a weak moment. Thankfully, nobody ever has been hurt.

As usual, the phone is crackling and cutting out. Car phones are mighty convenient, but out here Behind the Pine Curtain, reception isn’t that great. I could barely hear her.

“Great news.” Aaah, no wreck. “I got accepted to UT.”

I congratulate her. That is great news. There never was any doubt in my mind Kasey would get accepted. She makes great grades, getting just one “B” in two years. She studies hard, harder than I ever thought about studying. She did well on the Scholastic Aptitude Test. But she is a teenager and was convinced the University of Texas wouldn’t accept her.

Kasey, my oldest daughter, has planned to go to UT ever since I was a graduate student there and she was a 4-year-old, curly blond-headed child wandering down the halls of the Communication Building while I processed film in the photo lab. She really hasn’t wavered from that goal in all this time.

I am of two minds about this.

I am proud that she plans to go to my alma mater. She will do well, I’m sure. This child will set her alarm and get up at 4 in the morning to study for a test even after having worked until 11 the night before. She’s a part-time waitress at a Mexican restaurant, earning the money to pay her part of her exorbitant auto insurance premiums. I don’t know where she got her work habits, but they often put me to shame.

But I would be just as proud if she planned to go to the university right here in town. And if she stayed close to home, I could keep an eye on her - making sure she is checking the oil in her car and keeping the tires properly inflated, knowing she is relatively safe in our peaceful little town.

Instead, she’ll be 225 miles away in a big city. It makes me nervous. I already have enlisted a lineup of friends and relatives in Austin to keep an eye on her.

She’s already talking about how she’ll need a car phone in case of an emergency. Oh, and a gasoline credit card, too. And, you know, Dad, those private dorms have their own bathrooms for each room instead of those yucky community bathrooms in the UT dorms.

She may be a great student and a hard worker, but she’s also a pro at getting me to cut loose with cash. Women are born with this trait.

My daughter plans to be a speech therapist. She will be in the same building where I spent two years getting a master’s degree in journalism, going to class in the same halls where she used to play hide-and-seek with another teaching assistant’s child while he and I worked.

Of course, that all many change. It’s rare that someone picks a career at age 17 and sticks with it.

I went to the last high school football game of the season Friday night to watch Kasey perform; she’s on the drill team. From the press box, using binoculars, I watched her joking with friends before the show, laughing and carrying on. I watched her perform - flawlessly, of course, to this dad’s eyes - wearing a uniform that is far too short, again to this dad’s eyes.

I think it finally struck me then that she is a young woman now. It was a bit depressing.

Kasey and her younger sister came in after the game, getting in just ahead of a thunderstorm, about midnight. I was watching “Seinfeld” and trying to stay awake. They came running in and bounced on the bed, both talking at once about their perfect report cards, UT, the lightning that lighted up the sky, who she’s dating and who she dumped.

Her younger sister, now 14, plans to be on the drill team, too, she announced. And after high school, she says, she’s going to UT, too, and will live with Kasey. Kasey put her arm around her little sister; they’re going to miss each other, though they probably won’t admit it.

They both hugged me and told me they love me and headed to bed. For that moment at least, it seemed as if they were still my little girls.

xxxx