I remember all of the feelings that I had when my sister was pregnant for the first time. Excitement, disappointment (she was 18 at the time), terror and bewilderment, but the one thing I remember vividly was really thinking about how much I hated kids.

I worked in an ice cream shop for most of my late teens and I remember just hating every child that walked up to the counter. It was a pure and mean hatred. Later on I remember going to a Wal-Mart late one night to buy underwear and condoms and hearing a 4 year old sing to himself. It was the most annoying thing I had ever heard. I waited until his mom wasn’t looking and I knocked over a huge display that the kid was standing near so that he’d get in trouble. That was a good time.

Then Tori was born. I remember she had big feet for a baby. The biggest, most precious baby feet I’d ever seen. I’m talking 3 inches long from heel to big toe, and perfectly formed. I was the fourth person to ever hold her. My sister told me she was asleep and would probably stay that way for a few hours, but she opened her eyes and looked at me. Just a slight little glance. Later on a well-read copy of “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” told me that babies can’t really see that far in the first few hours after being born, but I’d like to think that she saw me. She took her little hand with the long fingernails and touched my finger. Her lips pursed like she was sucking on an imaginary bottle and a slight yawn came out. “Rough night, huh?”, was all I could manage to say to the kid. From that moment on, I think Tori and I got along better than I ever have with anyone.

I can’t describe how I feel about Tori, because I don’t know if my brain can come up with words. My family never hugged and kissed, we never say we loved each other, but it seemed like Tori in her own way helped us all soften up a bit. My grandparents finally got a chance to become grandparents, and I got a chance to see how cool kids can be. I learned a lot about life, and the things that really matter to people after Tori was born. She’s not my daughter, but I swear that seeing her grow and change into the awesome 12 year old that she is really has helped me look at the universe a bit differently.

I remember babysitting her one summer day when she was first walking and talking. I did what I inevitably do in any situation- drift off into another world, occupied by only me while she played in the next room. I heard the rustling of papers and eventually the strong smell of permanent marker. I walked into the room to discover that everything in the room- walls, floor, sheets, bed, books, and Tori’s face and teeth were covered in a thick black layer of marker. I wasn’t mad, but I remember thinking that she was going to be trouble growing up. Either that or I was going to be the worst parent imaginable.

Now she’s 12 and she’s the smartest, most interesting person I know. Her nose is in a book and she still makes up great jokes and stories. When she was four years old she made up two of the funniest jokes I’d ever heard:

Why did Baby Jesus have no dad?

Because he just had a mom!

and

Why did the little girl not do her homework?

Because she’s stupid!

Granted, they aren’t funny when you read them, but a four year old telling them to you and laughing is quite possibly the funniest thing ever. It’s like anti-funny. McSweeney’s wishes they could get material that meta textual.

I remember that she was sad at a very young age because she had no friends. So I went to the park with her to see if some children would be playing there. There were no kids to be found, and she blamed me. I’m the monster, apparently. But whatever. We were friends, Tori and I.

Now I live 45 miles away and we don’t get to talk as much. She’s a 12 year old with a social life and middle school friends, and I don’t understand exactly what she’s thinking about or doing, but she’s still Tori, and she’s still awesome.

At one of my eight billion coffee shop jobs, I remember talking to a customer whose girlfriend was expecting their first child. I remember asking him if he was wanting a girl or a boy. I have this theory that men have trouble identifying with daughters. He told me that either would be fine with him, but if it was a girl, he’d be okay with it because the love between a father and daughter is special. I know I don’t have children, and I know that Tori isn’t my daughter, but if that love is anything like how special I feel about her, then I’ll be walking around constantly in tears the day I have a daughter. It won’t be pretty.

I’m excited to grow old and see what Tori turns into. She’s by far the most interesting person I know, and I’m kind of honored to think that I’m related to her. A 12 year old, and Tuesday was her birthday.

Happy birthday, Tori.

Here’s a song that Tori will undoubtedly hate, but it makes me think of her and smile. It’s written and performed by John Doe. He told me that he wrote it about his daughter, and when I listen to the lyrics I can’t help but to identify with him.

John Doe- A Little More Time

I’ll have something up later today, and tomorrow is an all new Project Fridays. Get ready, people.

Be good.