Over the years I've complained a fair amount about being my two young daughters' chief playmate. I have groaned about attending their tea parties, and I've fussed when they've occasionally forced a pink feather boa around my neck and sent me dancing and plié- ing through the living room as part of one of their "performances." I have even experienced bouts of paranoia on occasion when I thought my daughters, with the aid of their mother, were secretly conspiring to take away my manliness. I'm still not completely convinced my paranoia was unjustified (How many real men sip tea and spend an uncomfortable amount of time in the feminine hygiene aisle at the grocery store?), but I do know I am no longer my daughters' playmate of choice.

I was not careful what I asked for, and it hurts. While I was rolling my eyes and wondering how much longer it was until the game came on as I ate fake finger food and got my plastic tea cup refilled weekend after weekend, my daughters were growing up. I just assumed they would need me forever, so it was easy for me to complain about their girly little games. This past weekend, instead of a sip of tea, I got a shot of reality.

My daughters, who have worshiped me since birth, ditched me for a couple of neighborhood girls and a trampoline. They left me standing in the driveway holding a pink Barbie scooter and my pride for a couple of new friends and some bouncing. They quit asking me to play "princess" and asked me if they could go play next door. It was everything I had ever dreamed of, yet, I was suddenly and overwhelmingly depressed.

My wife and I moved to our house so our children would have a safe neighborhood to roam and play, but I wasn't prepared for them to actually do it. As I watched my daughters sprint off to the neighbor's house and disappear into their backyard giggling and laughing, I felt myself longing for the tea parties I had complained about so much. I even started wondering where that silly feather boa was. I have been dumped before, but never has my heart been so profoundly broken. I know I should have been happy because their newfound independence will lead to mine. I mean I could actually start some manly endeavors like hammering and digging holes. Nobody ever got a good blister or callous from a plastic tea cup. I should be happy...right?

Today it's trampolines, and tomorrow it's wedding bells. I have the sinking feeling boys with too much cologne and too much hair will soon be at my doorstep wanting to take my baby girls away forever. Sure, I'm overreacting, but sometimes when reality sneaks up from behind and kicks you in the pants, it's a little hard to deal with. The tables have officially turned and I am no longer the cool kid on the block. I'm just Dad. I'm the guy who tells them to do their homework and go to bed, not the honored guest at a royal ball.

I guess I'll just have to accept my new role, but I don't have to like it. My heart will have to toughen up because I can't stop my girls from growing up. I can only hope they'll include me on their journey. If by chance I am asked to wear the feather boa or two more along the way, I'll do it with a big smile on my face.