Take a letter, Daddy!

1:51pm Monday 25th February 2008

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THERE comes a time when every father realises his daughter is old enough to look after herself.

It's a moment filled with a mixture of pride and sorrow.

Pride because there goes your loved one, the fruit of your loin, carving her own course through life, making her own decisions and living with the consequences either for the good or bad.

Sorrow because in that moment the father must accept that his role is now reduced. He must remove his steadying hands from his daughter's shoulders and gently nudge her on her way, watching as she makes her first, tentative - and solo - steps in the world.

For most fathers this time comes round about the time his daughter hits 18.

I was not prepared for it to happen to me when Emily was still not yet five.

On Saturday, the letterbox rattled and a slew of letters fell to the mat.

Shall I bring it to you, Daddy?' Emily called.

Ah, that's my girl, I thought.

She ran into the room, beaming, her arms filled with the usual pile of bills and bumph.

Tossing the letters at me, she skipped out of the room again saying: "Call me if there's anything for me!"

So I've been reduced to acting as secretary to my reception-age daughter. I don't know quite what she was expecting. Having said that, barely a day passes where she doesn't receive an invitation to a classmate's birthday party.

Such is life.