New role as father of the bride

I’ve spent the last few days trying to get my head around the fact that my 7-year-old daughter is getting married.

Actually, she’s 27.

But she’ll always be my little girl -- my Scoot, my Goose, my Pumpkin’.

It’s that way with children who are growing -- have grown -- and have flown the nest.

You revel in the adults they’ve become, yet you cling to the kids they were.

I’m not breaking any new ground here as father of a bride-to-be. There’s been a movie … and a remake of the movie … and a sequel to the movie.

But every father of the bride experience is unique, to a large extent, because of the emotion and personal memories we bring to the process.

There are mile markers along the road of how grown up they’ve become when we believe they shouldn’t be growing up at all:

-- Middle school? Wait, didn’t you just start first grade?

-- Driving? No, no, no. Eighth graders aren’t allowed to drive.

-- College graduation? When did you stop being a freshman in high school?

Elizabeth in my head is always many years younger than she actually is.

Part of that is my being selfish, my reluctance to accept my own aging.

If Elizabeth is getting that much older it means I’m getting that much older. Conversely, if I hold onto Elizabeth as being that much younger I hold onto my much younger self.

Elizabeth and John got engaged on Sunday. I couldn’t be happier for them.

While Elizabeth is prepared and organized, there’s still lots in the months ahead leading up to a late summer wedding.

That process will help my brain process the notion of daddy’s little girl getting married.

I’m not in denial. Indeed, I’m in full embrace of the notion.

My brain just needs to catch up with reality:

-- My Scoot owns a car.

-- My Goose is a doctor of physical therapy.

-- My Pumpkin’ soon will be a bride.