My Daughter the Model

If you have already heard me hold forth on this latest episode concerning my seven year old daughter Kendall, you don’t necessarily need to read further. But in case you only see me occasionally or just want to amuse yourself, then by all means read on.

First, you have to understand my daughter to fully appreciate this story. She is a girl’s girl. No doubt about it. A girl’s girl if there ever was one. She loves makeup and jewelry. Don’t even get me started about clothes. She wasn’t even two years old before she got into our closet and began telling my wife how she should dress.

Kendall is all about fashion and looking good in any situation. She even coordinates her clothes to match the new blue bike she got for Christmas. Yesterday, she informed my wife and me that she now requires a new blue helmet because her old pink one just doesn’t match the bike.

Clothes make her happier than a dog with a pig’s ear, and she will fight to the bitter end to wear what SHE wants to wear, which is usually some sort of dress. There can be two feet of snow on the ground and she’ll come out of her room wearing a dress.

I’ll say, “You’ll freeze.”

She’ll say, “I’m wearing tights,” and smile sweetly in an attempt to manipulate me.

I’ll say, “Go put on a pair of jeans.”

Her eyes usually harden at this point and the drama starts. Just ask my wife about the cage match battle royales they’ve had.

Anyway, for the story.

The annual children’s Christmas program at church is always a source of holiday mirth. There’s the kid who forgets his lines, the kid who has no clue where she needs to be on stage and the nose picking kid who obviously would rather not be there at all. Mistakes happen, but that’s why we show up, right?

But this year, after the program ended, my wife and I still couldn’t stop laughing. And, yes, our daughter was the source.

As the women who rides herd on the show every year was giving her usual remarks about how “this year’s program was the best ever ….,” my daughter was posing. And, judging by the giggles around us, her pose was not unnoticed by others in attendance.

She was sitting on the steps in the front of the church surrounded by the other kids who were doing what kids do in those situations. That means they weren’t paying much attention. They were too busy giggling, squirming, talking and poking each other.

Not my daughter. While chaos surged all around her, she was posing.

There she was in her fashionable red Christmas dress with a bright smile on her face and her hands folded primly in her lap.

The head honcho droned on for at least ten minutes about what a super program the kids put on this year and my daughter didn’t move a muscle. Not a twitch. She just sat there smiling while the other kids were plotting mutiny.

Later, when my wife asked her what she was doing, she said, “Mom, all the parents were taking pictures!”

Of course! Why did we even have to ask?

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My Daughter the Model

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