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When our daughter, Dana, was little she was as happy as a little girl could be. About 40% of the time. The other 60% was another story.

She could be smiling and laughing and showering me with hugs and kisses, when suddenly a thought would cross her mind. A dark shadow would come over her face, and her mood would change. Drastically. it wasn’t just me that witnessed the change; strangers would comment on it. As if a rain cloud would appear over only her little head.

One summer Sunday shortly after she turned three, we were getting ready for the playground. “Daddy, will you take me on the swings?” she asked. “Of course I will. That’s one of the reasons we’re going to the playground,” I responded.

Dana was overjoyed. Too overjoyed, I thought. She was acting as if I had just bought her a puppy.

“Mommy! Mommy!” she cried. “Daddy said he’ll take me on the swings! He promised me! He did! I can’t wait for my daddy to take me on the swings! Michael, daddy is gonna take me on the swings! I love my daddy!”

Michael, her six year old brother, rolled his eyes. He did that a lot.

So we drove to the park, found a spot, and walked to the playground, little Dana holding my hand, practically dragging me to the swings. When we got there, all eight swings were occupied by other little girls, being pushed by their daddies. I stood there, holding Dana’s hand, waiting our turn.

I began talking to Dana. No response. I sensed trouble brewing.

“How high should I push you, sweetie?” I asked.

“Daddy, let’s go! Let’s go on the swing!! Why are we just standing here?!” she demanded.

Uh-oh.

“We have to wait our turn, Dana,” I replied hopefully, knowing deep down that there was no way that she would accept my reasoning.

“But you promised you would take me on the swing!” she shouted. “You promised me!!!”

She then pulled her hand away, turned around and stormed off, screaming. Just like that. The storm cloud followed over her until she reached her mother, into whose lap she collapsed, despondent.

“My daddy lied to me, mommy!” she cried. My wife, Wendy, just looked at me, shrugging her shoulders. Michael rolled his eyes.

I spent the next hour having a catch with Michael; I thought it best to avoid Dana. She went on the monkey bars with her mom, ignoring all friendly advances from other children. She wanted nothing to do with anyone.

When the ice cream man drove up, I bought an ice pop for myself and Dana, and vanilla ice cream sandwiches for Wendy and Michael. We all sat on a bench; I was surprised that Dana sat next to me. I devoured my ice pop quickly, and noticed that Dana, after two licks, had lost interest.

I told her if she didn’t want any more, I would be happy to finish it.

Dana looked at me and scowled. She pushed herself off the bench, dropped to the ground, and proceeded to walk across the playground.

“Where are you going, Dana?” I asked quietly. No response.

I noticed 40 feet in front of her there was a garbage can.

“Dana, honey,” her mom called. “Daddy says he’ll eat your ice pop…” I told her not to bother. I saw where this was going. Mike figured out what was about to happen, and rolled his…you know.

Dana continued her march, past the stupid swings with the stupid little giggling girls and their stupid smiling fathers, until she reached the garbage can. She turned and caught my gaze. The can was her height.

She put her hand with the ice pop up and out, as if she were about to begin a dance routine. She dangled the pop over the trash, staring at me the entire time. An endless eight seconds passed.

Then her little hand opened, and the ice pop was no more.

My mouth fell open. As did Michael’s. Wendy gasped.

Then Dana walked slowly back to us and climbed onto the bench next to her mother. She crossed her arms, scowling off in to the distance. I wondered what she would be like when she grew up…

Last Saturday I was due to meet Dana on Central Park West at 8am. We were running a 10K together. When I was across the street, I spotted her near the park’s entrance. Thirty years old. Slim. Stylish. Pretty. Several guys walking past noticed her as well.

Later we went to a diner. The conversation turned to her engagement and upcoming wedding, and her future in general. She wondered what her kids would be like.

“I hope they are exactly like you were, sweetie,” I said…