Sey Young: Think It Over

Sey Young: Proud dad remembers favorite girl

Wedding near, father cheers

When your youngest daughter is about to be married, you have so many memories of her, starting as a little baby, that they tend to blur and blend. As a result, it can become extremely difficult to single out any one or two, not realistic to remember any that remain untarnished by time or later events.

It has been alleged that the day she was born, that I possibly glanced at French Open highlights for a few seconds while I held her in the recovery room for over an hour. This slander seems predicated on the fact that as a tennis enthusiast, why wouldn't I be sneaking a peak at SportsCenter, which could be seen at an angle from the said room? I do not recall this.

It has been alleged that due to the possible strong resemblance of my youngest daughter to myself that I took an excessive amount of paternal pride in pointing out said resemblance to any and all and stating she was indeed an exceptionally good-looking baby. This is an assertion that I can neither confirm nor deny, except to say the facts don't lie.

Allegedly, once when she and her sister were standing up in their seats in our van, looking out the moon roof on a trip to Colorado, they ignored repeated requests by their father to sit down and fasten their seatbelts as we drove the scenic Pikes Peak highway. Supposedly, at that point of non-compliance, I lightly tapped the brakes, sending them tumbling onto the floor, a consequence I must point out would have been impossible if seated with a seatbelt properly fastened. I do not recall any detail of this story and believe it to be a total fabrication.

This now covers, to the best of my knowledge, every half-truth, myth, rumor and false allegation that has been reported about this future bride and myself.

I can say that this was a little baby who enjoyed staying up for an hour or so after midnight feedings. I must have sung the song "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" approximately 900 times in those moments. A little Ariel to my brutish Caliban. If I close my eyes, I believe I can recall each time.

I can say this was a little girl who loved the outdoors, hiked the entire Devil's Den loop when she was 3, and climbed out onto a 300-foot ledge in Garden of the Gods at age 6 without fear just so her temporarily deranged father could get a photo. And when there was turmoil at home, this was a daughter who would wrap her arms around my neck and let me know I was loved.

As a high school junior, she entered, to my amazement, the Miss Bentonville High School contest. For her talent she decided to do a comedy routine which she wrote herself. That evening, as I pointed my camera at the stage in a full auditorium, I suddenly was seized with panic: What if no one laughs? Then I watched my normally shy little girl take the stage and take command. I was bursting with both relief and pride. And as the applause came thundering across the room at the end, I was on my feet wildly cheering.

Looking back, I don't guess I've ever really stopped.

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