It all started when my little girl was just a baby and I took it upon myself to dress her for the day. You know, that modern-father philosophy of being a part of your child's life instead of apart from it. Anyways, I don't remember where we were going, I don't remember exactly what I dressed her in, but I remember my wife's, mother-in-law's, and my mother's reaction to my baby's attire.
WIFE: "You can't be serious? Our baby is NOT leaving this house looking like that."
MOTHER-IN-LAW: "I told you it was a bad idea to let him dress her. Don't you remember he's colorblind?"
MOTHER: "I thought I raised you better than this. This is just over the top, totally outrageous."
Oh, I should be ashamed of saying it, but to irk all three of them at one time, well, I considered that a coup d’état! And so, throughout the years, I kept dressing her every chance I could get, just to rub the women-folk the wrong way.
Polka dots and stripes? Why not! Orange top and purple pants? What do I care -- I'm colorblind. Elephants on top and Zebras down below? Looked okay to me.
Funny thing is, my little baby thought it looked okay, too. And when it came time for her to dress herself -- and she let me know it was time in no uncertain terms -- when it was time, she continued with an eclectic style that made her Daddy proud.
She's my girl. She's got style. She doesn't let anyone influence her "look." And who taught her everything she knows?
Me -- Proud Papa!
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