The Day The Pterodactyls Went Extinct

I don't know the exact day, but I know it happened in the last few weeks. Seriously, the pterodactyls just now went extinct. Let me explain.

The pterodactyls lived in the belly of the Youngest Sister quite comfortably for the last 5+ years. They were a friendly pair who made a growling noise every time the Youngest Sister got hungry. They were fond of apples and bananas and grapes. And popsicles and "Blue Doritos" and chicken (Chicken being anything that was cooked on the grill, of course).

The pterodactyls were also very clear about what they didn't like to eat. The Youngest Sister defended them against certain food choices by saying, "The pterodactyls won't eat that, Daddy." It became a running theme around our house, even the adults were trained to listen for the digestive opinions of the two pterodactyls. At the end of a meal when she asked if she could have dessert, the parental response was, "Are the pterodactyls full? Did they eat well?"

So yesterday after school I was curled up on the pillow in her room reading Corduroy the Bear and I asked, "Are the pterodactyls hungry?" which being translated means, "Do you want an after school snack?"

She said, "The pterodactyls are gone."

I exclaimed "What!? When did that happen!?"

She shrugged with an indifference I'm not accustomed to seeing in a 5 year old.

I pressed on. "Where have they gone?"

She answered, "I don't know. They just flew away."

I bit my lip to hold back a very unmanly sob, a sob driven by the rushing realization that the baby of the family is no baby at all. A sob propelled by my worry that her imagination had been somehow stolen by that thief of childhood named "Growing Up."

The extinction of the pterodactyl is just the beginning, sounding the death knoll for Santa and the Tooth Fairy. Stuffed bears and tea parties will give way to shoe shopping and mascara, cell phones and boyfriends. "Daddy" will become "Dad" and "Can we cuddle?" becomes "Can I go out?"

My soul is struggling with this because I do want her to grow up. I do. Really I do. Really really really. I'm not convincing you or me, am I?

That's because you and I fear what the extinction of the pterodactyls signals: Aging. Loss of innocence. Tempis fugit. Missed opportunity. Regrets.

This is more than a story about a daddy watching his little girl mature. It's not even quaint reluctance that squishes her on the top of the head as if to say, "Stop growing up so fast!" It's a story about grown ups "playing pretend" about the march of time, too willingly, too easily blinding ourselves to its passing.

If those dinosaurs go extinct so quickly, then how soon before I'll be the dinosaur? Did I miss the good stuff? Did I drink life to the lees with all three of my kids? With my wife? With my friends?

So I cling to those stupid pterodactyls because as long as they are around, I can be a child too. The Youngest Sister, if she could read this would say, "Oooooh, Daddy, you said the "s" word!" Maybe that's a sign that I'm not so close to being a part of the fossil record after all.