As a dad (especially one of girls, and even more especially one of fire-engine-red-haired girls), your parental responsibility knows no bounds. Today my fatherly responsibility involved skipping out in the middle of a work day, camcorder in hand, to catch my daughter's appearance at the Q&U wedding.
Since the early days of the alphabet, Q & U were inexorably linked. Over time Q realized she could not be without her true love, the U. U felt an equal love for Q, though frankly he played the field a bit, often seen with whatever cheap, trampy consonant he could pick up at the local paragraph. That R...what a floozy. But Q saw though all that, knew that U had a good heart, and they decided to make their partnership official, announcing it was time for matrimony.
Okay, what the heck am I talking about? The first grade play, of course. a little girl plays the Q, all dressed in her finest ball gown. a young boy plays the U, dressed in what can only be deemed a practice run for his future Bar Mitzvah suit. The principal wears her graduation gown and serves as justice of the peace, and the rest of the students fill in the blanks as ushers, bridesmaids, and chorus singers.
The highlight of course was seeing the blushing bride. Scratch that. It was the blushing dad, who somehow got convinced to take off work and walk his own daughter down the aisle (or, rather, across the gym). There's an event I'm definitely not prepared for, myself. I happened to notice a grandmother in the audience who HAD to be the bride's grandma. She was actually crying.
The festival was joyous. The singing, not quite in tune. The cookies, tasty. The boys were completely mortified and dying to get out of their monkey suits and in front of their PlayStations. The girls did what girls do best...twirl their dresses and pretend to be princesses. And then we had punch.