Revisiting five songs that make dads of daughters cry

NOTE: This is recycled content, but unless you're a really longtime fan of this blog, you won't have read it. It originally ran on April 6, 2012. I posted it again back on February 27, 2015. It is far, far, far and away the most widely read thing I've written here. Whereas a typical post on this blog nowadays garners 100 to 200 page views, this one has 24,654 views at the time of this writing. Apparently people really care about their daddy-daughter songs...

Inside every father of a daughter is a big softie. No matter how hard and tough the guy may seem, I guarantee he has a tender place in his heart for that little girl.

The music industry knows this and has, on more than one occasion, taken advantage of it by producing songs designed solely to make us cry. I hate them for it.

There are actually relatively few things that will make me cry. If a Cleveland sports team ever wins a championship, I will cry (NOTE: This was written before the Cavs won a title in 2016. And for the record, I did mist up a bit.) This is silly, I know, but I won't deny it. If it ever happens in my lifetime, I will cry.

I mist up at most Hallmark movies, too, though I usually deny it and blame it on dust in the room or something.

And anything sentimental to do with my kids – particularly my girls –  will make me cry. I'm no different than most other dads in this respect.

So here, then, is one man's list of the Top Five Daddy-Daughter Songs Designed to Make Grown Men Weep. We'll go in reverse order:

#5 - "Daddy's Little Girl" - The Mills Brothers

No list of this kind would be complete without the most requested father-daughter dance song of all time. From the very first verse, The Mills Brothers go for the heartstrings: "You're the end of the rainbow / My pot of gold / You're daddy's little girl / To have and to hold." If any of my daughters make me dance to this song at their wedding, I will collapse into a sobbing heap right then and there. That's it, just four lines into the song and I'll be done. I'll telling them this now so they can be prepared for major embarrassment on their big day.

#4 - "Stealing Cinderella" - Chuck Wicks

Country singers are experts at exploiting the daddy-daughter relationship. We could actually have filled this list with nothing but country tunes, but for my money, this one is the best. It tells the story of a guy going to his girlfriend's father to ask for her hand in marriage. It's obvious to him the dad worships his daughter, and that "To him I'm just some fella / Riding in and stealing Cinderella." Note that the Cinderella figure will play a major role later on. For now, if you're not familiar with "Stealing Cinderella," check out the video.

#3 - "When She Loved Me" - Sarah McLachlan

Kind of a surprise entry. On the surface, this isn't necessarily a daddy-daughter song. It's from the "Toy Story 2" soundtrack, and it's sung from the perspective of a doll whose owner has grown up and doesn't play with her anymore. But the song has always reminded me of my daughters, and sometimes specifically of Elissa and the two years or so when I worked nights and was with her every day while Terry was at work. "Through the summer and the fall / We had each other, that was all / Just she and I together / Like it was meant to be." Excuse me for a second, someone must have emptied the vacuum cleaner bag because it's getting really dusty in here...

#2 - "Butterfly Kisses" - Bob Carlisle

Darn you, Bob Carlisle. You're an evil, evil man. This song is terrible, and by that I mean it's awesome. What makes it terrible is that it's one of those "let's follow the little girl as she grows up and becomes a woman and end on her wedding day as her father walks her down the aisle" songs. Which of course makes you realize that time passes impossibly fast and that you're probably not making the most of it. Every time I hear this song, I go looking for Melanie to see if she wants to play a board game or go outside or just do anything except grow up like her rotten sisters are doing.

#1 - "Cinderella" - Steven Curtis Chapman

You want to feel guilty? You want to feel terrible? You don't even have to listen to the song itself. Just listen to Steven Curtis Chapman explain the inspiration for it. That's enough right there to make you feel like the worst parent in the world. And then consider how he must feel every time he sings it and has to think about his 5-year-old daughter who was killed when her brother accidentally ran her over in his SUV as she was playing in the family driveway. Sometimes when I listen to this song, I don't know whether to feel terrible, inspired, or both. I lean toward "inspired," but it's hard not to feel guilty about the amount of time you spend with your little girls when he sings, "'Cause all too soon the clock will strike midnight / And she'll be gone." Wow.

A kindergarten registration email triggers a wave of nostalgia

I'm signed up to receive emails from our school district, and for the most part I find them interesting and informative (even though we only have one child left in the district).

Many aren't necessarily relevant to me, and that's OK. It only takes a second to delete them and be on my way.

One of those messages came over recently. It was a notification of how parents in the district could sign their children up for kindergarten. My first instinct, of course, was to get rid of it because, thankfully, we don't have any 5-year-olds remaining in the house.

But then I stopped and thought about kindergarten registrations and kindergarten experiences from years past. And for all the effort we as parents put in to getting our kids raised and prepared for lives out there of their own, I realized I kind of miss those days.

There was the time, for example, when I came home from work on the day Melanie was going to register for kindergarten. I excitedly asked her, "Mel, how was kindergarten registration?" This prompted a confused look from Melanie and a loud gasp from my wife, who had completely forgotten about the whole thing that day.

(In Terry's defense, her life back then was unending chaos. The fact that she even got dressed in the morning was always impressive to me. And it turned out OK, as we were able to get Mel signed up even after the official registration period, as evidenced by the fact that she did eventually graduate and all.)

I also remember our first kindergarten registration with Elissa, who quite frankly is a genius and was ready to start writing dissertations at age 5. However, one of the skills they evaluated during registration was the ability to cut with scissors, and apparently Elissa had some trouble with that.

We as young parents were of course appalled that anyone would see anything less than perfection in our little girl and were accordingly offended.

Oh the funny things you do when you're a rookie.

Then there's poor Jack, who on his first day of kindergarten got off the bus, walked into the school, realized he had no idea where to go from there, started crying, and eventually had to be rescued by a kindly school aide.

It should be noted that, a year later on the first day of first grade, Terry wanted to walk into the school with Jack to ensure he got to the right room this time, but she was not allowed to go in. And what happened? Yeah, you guessed it. He went in alone, had no idea where to go, started crying, and had to be rescued again.

Poor kid.

Sleep-wise, having pets can be worse than having babies

Our first two children, Elissa and Chloe, began sleeping through the night within a week of coming home from the hospital.

Jared, our #3, took a few months.

Melanie, the next in line, honestly took a good year and a half.

Jack, the youngest, was somewhat less than that but still gave us troubles.

I've often said that, had this all happened in reverse order and the first two were problem sleepers, there would not have been five Tennant kids. You would right now be reading a blog titled "Two Kids and That's It."

Those days are long in the past, of course, but I'm still often awakened at times when I would rather not be awakened.

Nowadays, the culprits are our five cats. And really, it's mostly Fred.

Fred is ready to wake up and eat any time after 4:30am. I'm an early riser, but he tends to start bothering me during that delicious half-hour before I get up when the bed feels warm and comfortable and you doze so peacefully.

This bothering takes the form of questioning meows, followed by Fred positioning his face literally within three inches of mine (as if to say, "hey, you awake?")

This is always followed by Fred placing a front paw on my cheek. It would almost be sweet if it wasn't so annoying.

I will usually roll away or swat his paw from my face to indicate my disagreement with Fred's position that it is, in fact, time to start the day. But at that point it's really no use. There's no way I'm going back to sleep, so after five minutes of just laying there to show Fred who's boss (though he clearly knows the truth), I roll out of bed and proceed to feed the cats, scoop their litter boxes, sweep up around said boxes, etc.

All things considered, I think I would prefer going back to the babies-in-the-house phase of our life.

I don't really have the stomach to be making scholarship decisions

As some of my friends and family know, I started a scholarship last year in memory of Ray Milavec, a former Wickliffe educator, coach, administrator, and legendary PA announcer who passed away five years ago. The Ray Milavec Memorial Scholarship is intended to be given annually to a graduating senior (or seniors) from Wickliffe High School.

I had never given much thought to how scholarships are established or awarded, except for the ones my kids were up for and/or won. But now, as I look forward to handing out the second set of Milavec Scholarships at Senior Awards Day in a couple of weeks, I find myself really wishing I had more money to give.

The reason is simply that a LOT of deserving young people applied this year, and the available funds are such that, at best, we can give three $500 awards. Nine students submitted applications, and only one-third of them will walk away with money to apply to their post-secondary educations.

These nine applicants—all of whom are female, by the way—have clearly aced the high school experience. They all have outstanding grades, are involved in a range of extracurriculars, and give back to the community in a variety of ways.

If I'm being honest, I will tell you there is virtually no difference among them. I mean, really, there's nothing that raises any of them above the pack, and I mean that in a good way. They're all great kids with bright futures.

I simply don't want to have to make this decision, but I have to, so I will. And I'm going to feel bad for those who don't win, even though I'm sure they'll all clean up at Awards Day in other ways.

There are people better suited for this job than me, and they're people who aren't afraid to make decisions and live with the consequences. Sometimes I'm like that, but not always.

Looking ahead to next year, I'm thinking about going back to the original intent of the scholarship, which is to give just one award of $1,000 to one student and call it a day. That means even more of them will be excluded.

I may also drop the interview requirement (even though I love my 15-minute FaceTime conversations with the applicants), and may even change it so that no one actually applies. Rather, I would establish a set of more well-defined criteria and work with the counselors and other school administrators to pick a student who best fits them.

Of course, even then, I'm going to walk away sad that we can't give money to every one of the 100+ young adults who graduate each year from Wickliffe.

Let me tell you, it's not easy being wishy washy.

I type very fast, almost violently. I have Miss Riley to thank for that.

I'm just old enough to have taken a typing class back in high school.

On a typewriter.

They don't teach typing anymore that I know of, largely because kids are keyboarding from very young ages and generally become proficient typists on their own.

But back in 1984 when I was a freshman, there was such a class as typing, and it was taught by Miss Riley.

She was a sweet older woman who insisted on proper technique: Curved fingers, hands on the home row (A-S-D-F for the left hand, J-K-L-; for the right hand), etc. We practiced typing various sentences from a typing textbook.

If you're a young person reading this, it probably sounds like something from the Middle Ages. And technologically speaking, it may as well have been.

Now, let me say in my defense that these were electric typewriters we used. I have older friends who learned on manual typewriters, so I'm not that ancient.

Still, if you watch me type, you would assume I learned on a manual typewriter because I absolutely pound the keys.

People used to walk by my office at work (this is true) and ask, "Are you OK?" They would hear me banging away and assume I was taking out my aggression on the computer keyboard.

The positive result of it all is that I type really, really fast. And pretty accurately, too.

I also tend to go through keyboards quicker than most people.

But rest assured, I'm not angry. I'm just a violent typer.

I took the SAT 34 years ago today. Why does my brain retain this information?

THINGS THAT ARE STUCK IN MY BRAIN FOR WHICH I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO USE:

• The B-side songs for every Men at Work single on 45
• The usual starting lineup for the 1979 Cleveland Indians
• Casualty counts for a host of World War I battles
• Detailed plotlines for most episodes of The Andy Griffith Show
• The quadratic formula
• My News-Herald paper route from 1981 (seriously, I could deliver that route today and not miss a house)
• The fact that I took the SAT on this date in 1987.

To that last point...who cares? Why would my brain decide this is something worth remembering?

It also likes to point out that, after I finished the test, I drove directly to Solon High School to join my track team at the Solon Relays.

Is there any practical use for this information? Of course not. But this has never deterred my brain, which delights in storing away the most irrelevant of nuggets.

On the other hand, it will not reveal to me such things as where I put my wedding ring, the exact ingredients in my wife's favorite Starbucks drink, and which light switches control which lights in our house (the house where we have lived for nearly 18 years).

Why, brain, why? Why do you do this to me?

Maybe you explained it to me one time and now I'm just forgetting.

Living right next to the longest interstate highway in the U.S.

And by the way, Google Maps guys, it's Miller Ave., not Miller Dr.

If it weren't for a covering of trees and a sharp dip in elevation, I could look to my right at this very moment and have a clear view of Interstate 90.

As I often like to tell my family, I-90 is the longest of the U.S. interstates, running just over 3,000 miles from Boston to Seattle.

And it is our immediate neighbor, located maybe 300 feet south of our front porch.

Having lived in this house for nearly 18 years, I don't notice the sound of freeway traffic whizzing by just over the trees, but visitors sometimes do. That low white noise is just part of our everyday background, and I'm only really aware of it when a semi uses its Jake brakes or there's construction nearby.

Other than that, it's easy to forget this major thoroughfare is right there outside of our door.

I-90 is a popular route for sports teams and music acts that travel by bus, and I've always wished I could somehow compile a list of all of the famous and semi-famous people who have driven right past our house.

But alas, there's no way to do that apart from posting a sign on the freeway that says, "If you're a celebrity, please call Scott's cell phone and let him know you just passed by."

I'm so tempted, though. I'll bet I would hear from John Madden.