I bought my daughter a gift today, and I put it into my closet along with all the others. It’s her birthday in April, and I know I’m four months early, but I love picking up presents when I happen to see them. She’ll be turning thirteen so I got her a book about boys-that’s what I got today, on top of a fuzzy pink bathrobe with matching slippers, a stuffed animal of the cutest monkey you’ve ever seen, a pair of dangly diamond earrings, and the special edition dvd of “High School Musical 3.” I don’t want her falling behind all her friends.
         Checking my answering machine is the first thing I do in the morning, and every time I go to the bathroom at night. When I step into the threshold of my home, I rush to press the playback button, praying to hear my daughter’s voice. Or even her mother’s voice if it meant I got to hear about my precious little girl.
         Not that I would recognise her voice. I haven’t seen her since she was twenty-one days old. But I’m waiting. Waiting to recover the lost time. I’ll give her all the gifts I’ve saved for her since she was born: the dolls, the bicycle with pompoms and training wheels, the books, the birthday and Christmas cards-everything. All the skeletons in the closet belong to her, and I hope she will accept them.
         When we meet will she recognize me? Oh, no, unless this were a movie. She’d be happy though, to finally see me after all this time. I’m a good guy with a big house and a fantastic career. We’re meant for each other, like kindred spirits. We’ll go rent a two-person bike and go to the riverfront, and we’ll get ice cream cones and see a movie. We’ll go shopping and out to dinner, and I’ll help her with her homework. I’ll tell her about my religion and about sex and boys and about the war in the Middle East. I’ll meet her friends and her first boyfriend and I’ll scare him off. All this is approaching, and I feel more anticipation then the looming apocalypse.  
         I wonder what she looks like now? What colour of hair she will have. She was born with blonde hair like her mother, but it darkened into something like mine. That doesn’t mean that she doesn’t dye her hair, it could be red or black or blue or purple. Also she was born with blue eyes like mine but the doctor said they would probably turn brown like hers. I have glasses; does she? No, girls now a-days prefer contacts. Does she like the colour pink or monkeys? Are her ears pierced and does she like to read or ride a bike?