When my family needed to change, she was the first one in the door. She has always been completely innocent, but is arguably at fault for all that you see here.

She was in her second month of college, and wanted to help kids with troubles. My bride and I had decided that our five-year-old needed aggressive amounts of face-time therapy to be all he could be. The first of many therapy companies to be on my payroll posted a note near her classroom, and in this way she came to my door.

I recall her tripping on my threshold the first time she crossed it. She moved with that baby-giraffe coordination that unusually tall teenage girls have for a while, and was mortified at her stumble for her first few minutes there. The bride and I didn't really know how this was going to work, and I was anxious about handing my only child to rookie kids for his schoolin',but somehow the way she started helped to ease my mind.

Our first meeting was run by the therapy company; an indoctrination for us all about how our four new employees could best be spending their time with my son. There were too many of us for my living room furniture, so I wound up sprawled on the floor, across from where she'd curled atop an ottoman. As I evaluated how my new staff was reacting to the meeting, I realized that she might easily have the longest legs I'd ever seen.

Five minutes after that meeting ended, I made the first and last decision I'd make about my son's therapy. I turned to the bride and said, "OK - all these girls work for you - I am just an observer." I'd been worried about how we'd share direction peacefully on that effort anyway. Realizing that my telling long-legged teenagers what to do was not the best idea made my decision to back up from that an obvious call. Seven years later, I can see how that responsibility shift has sent my bride in a direction away from me... but I still think it was the best call that could be made.

From there, the therapy itself went marvelously, though; my giraffe friend and the others spent their time drawing my son out in ways that clearly made him better. With my bride as den mother, they quickly became a team that lasted for years, revolving in new members as time passed and everyone's objectives changed, but the girl that stumbled as we met always stayed.

I would, as observer, occasionally watch her and my son together, watching how they interacted. Watching him struggle to speak at her prompting, and the intent and earnest way she would encourage him. Watching her deflect the punches he would throw on the days he couldn't stand the struggle. Watching them both light up when he was able to say the word of the day correctly for her.

They cared for each other, and that got the job done. Simple as that. It made perfect sense when she decided to add teaching nose kisses to his curriculum.

Just as it did when I found her in long talks with my bride after her shifts would end. Young girl finding her way away from home, my lady with her hard-won wisdom, of course they'd speak of what was new and old to them. Whenever I would spy this occurring, I would step back from them and let it happen. Most natural thing in the world.

The summer after her first year of college, my bride told me of the deal they had done. The day job our giraffe pursued to pay the bills was in our town, the parents she'd be living with were a ninety minute drive away. My bride opened our home to her, with our crash couch always hers when her schedule needed her to save that drive, and she could spend that time with my boy instead. I suddenly had a live-in a few nights a week.

Of course, she dressed for bed the way she had dressed in her girls' dorm that year, allowing for summer's heat, thinking not a thing of it. It took me some time to be as comfortable with that as she was, but it's not the sort of thing one mentions, not a thing one makes a girl think of when all that she needs is a home for a while.

We did grow comfortable that summer, enough that I would start to hear of the fun that she'd have, in the ways one does when one first leaves home. I would mock the mistakes that she'd make and then tell of, like her discussion with an officer about her drunken public urination. I thought it was my part for her schoolin', and it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sometimes her schedule would bring her to my house late, after bride and boy were abed, and her still needing to talk. I'd grab beers for myself and the minor, and we'd sit in the backyard while she talked herself out. I found myself giving paternal advice while feeling unqualified, though I could certainly have had a daughter near her age. We grew used to having a smoke and that beer on occasion, her thinking not a thing of how odd it might be to sit with me, nightshirt at mid-thigh.

It got the point where I'd cook for her meals, learning how she liked things grilled. One weekend day, she invited her once-again boyfriend along, to be met by my bride and myself, so I fed those kids more beef than they'd seen in three weeks. When he left for his work, she came right back to me and said "What do you think of him, Dad?"

I've no idea what I said back to her - it's a shock the first time the pretty girl acts like she's your daughter.

That summer ended, but we all continued, watching each other grow up. My son kept getting better at saying the word of the day. I spent more time stepping back from my home, finding new and dear friends, who liked that I could speak as a peer mixed with paternal. (Some of whom gave me a name, taught me again I should write.)

My newfound daughter went through transferring college to save her scarce money, fighting to finish her schoolin', finding out things as she student-taught. Frightened she'd not land that first job, and then that she'd not do well, and then finding the confidence that came with good work. Becoming quite the adult - I'm sure she's more careful about where she pees.

Losing the on-and-off boyfriend, finding others of differing durations, with confidence coming from that as well. Proving it could be a good idea to date the bartender - I nodded a solemn yes when she eventually asked me what I thought. Him crossing the country in pursuit of his goals, her finding a job that let her move near him, but far away from us. It broke everyone's hearts to see her take leave of my boy, but we all knew that she should follow hers.

I'll be at their wedding in just a few hours; it's finally progressed to this. My son's still not ready to sit in a church, so my plan for this day was to drive him around town during the ceremony, and bring him to the reception so that he could nose-kiss his friend while she was wearing a pretty dress. That was the plan, until my bride got a short urgent phone call this week.

Someone else has been found to care for my son. I'm informed I must watch my mock daughter take vows, standing graceful and tall with her man somewhat taller.

No one's said it, but I'm sure she's wondering if, or when, I'll cry.

It would be the most natural thing in the world.