Mike Maddock There are many memorable events that happen when raising children like the appearance of that first tooth, and several years later, its subsequent exit, or those first wobbly, tiny yet incredibly significant steps, or when the consonants and vowels finally come together and that first word is read. These are the events parents cherish and the events that usually mark the next stage in the growing process for our children.

My oldest daughter recently reached another one of those milestones in her young life. She is seven and a half years old and a rising second grader. This past weekend she attended her first spend–the–night party. One of her school friends was turning seven and had decided the best way to send me into yet another emotional tailspin was to invite some girlfriends over for a sleepover.

Sure, the birthday girl barely knows me as my daughter’s dad, and I’m sure her motives for throwing this party had nothing to do with my emotional needs, but the results were the same. In order for my daughter to attend this little shindig, she was going to have to step through yet another portal of life and remind me how fast her childhood is passing by me.

Hadn’t I been through enough lately? I mean she just finished the first grade. Her younger sister just swam without a floatie. Her baby brother finally figured out the toilet is not an evil monster intent on ruining his life after immense weeks of struggle. All this, and now I’m supposed to hand my oldest daughter off because this little girl wanted her party to include sleeping bags and late night giggling?

I couldn’t handle it.

But my daughter was too excited to let my anxiety ruin her good time. Still, I told her she didn’t have to go and my wife and I told her it was all right to call us anytime of night if she wanted to come home. When we dropped her off, I looked for any excuse to pull her back into the van. Maybe no other girls showed up…maybe boys did…maybe this little girl’s house was close to Fort Jackson’s bombing range…maybe her parents were rejects from the 60s doling out free love and funny cigarettes. But I would have no such luck.

All the guests showed; none of whom were boys. The neighborhood was very nice and not in danger of catching a stray mortar round. And worst of all, the parents were extremely nice and incredibly sympathetic. It was, after all, their little girl’s first spend–the–night party too.

I sat by the phone anxiously awaiting the call to rescue my daughter from the perils of growing–up. My wife and I prepared ourselves for the worst and almost gleefully awaited the call that was sure to come. Our daughter was not ready for such a step, and we were ready to deal with it.

An awful thing happened though. That 1 am phone call never came. In fact, apparently the only things coming from that party were a lot of giggling and good times. When we picked up my daughter the next morning, she was yawning a good bit, but she was smiling too. She never even thought to call us. She was too busy having fun…and too busy growing up.

The hostess said she was the first girl to fall asleep. I guess I can take solace in that, but I would have much rather gotten that phone call. It just goes too fast.