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My last one, my little 8-year-old Pepperoni, the youngest of the Lane girls, got her ears pierced last week at the beach and it’s killing me.
I would have never dreamed that two tiny gold balls — each the size of a BB — could have such a profound effect on me, but it has. It’s nearly all I can think about.

My three little stick-legged girls are vanishing one by one. They are disappearing: into the world of high school and car-driving for my oldest; iPods and cell phones for my middle daughter; and, now, pierced ears for my littlest Peppy.

It’s hard for me to take. They are this old. I know that, but how did they get this old so fast? It feels like someone has fast-forwarded my life.

I can remember when I was a child, relatives and friends of my parents would remark, “You’re growing up so fast,” or “I can hardly believe how quickly you’ve grown.”

I can also remember thinking, from my point of view as a kid, time moved at an excruciatingly slow pace. I wondered what these crazy people were talking about. Didn’t these grown-ups know that, to a kid, the last week of school lasts for an eternity, and the span between Thanksgiving and Christmas is like 12 eternities?

But now I get it. I completely understand what all those adults were talking about. For me at least, time with my daughters has raced by with such a subtle swiftness, I failed to notice how fast it was moving until it has already passed.

When Michele and I had our first child, it took a while for me to swallow the idea that I was partly responsible for bringing a living breathing human into this world. As we had another and another still, I got used to being the dad with the little girls. I fell easily into this role and loved it.

And that’s how I still think of myself. I’m the dad with the three girls who wear their hair in pigtails. I’m the dad whose daughters fight over who’ll get to sit in daddy’s lap in church. I’m the dad whose girls ask for piggyback rides, and who want me to get down on the floor and play big wrestler. And I’m the dad whose daughters shriek with delight when I growl like a monster during our own made-up, ridiculously silly, game of tag called “Tea and Tomato Juice.”

But now, instead of tag, my babies text. Instead of riding razor scooters in the driveway, my girls bring razors into the shower.

Bubble bath has given way to shower gel; finger paints have become fingernail polish, and the tea and tomato juice are in the back of the refrigerator instead of in the backyard.

To make matters worse, my oldest chose to miss the family beach trip this year to be a counselor-in-training at Camp Thunderbird. The beach wasn’t the same without her.

I just can’t help but think my wife and I just got a little taste of what life will be like when she goes away to college, and I don’t know if I can bear it.

Please don’t get me wrong, I love each of them more than I ever have. I love the young ladies they are growing up to be, but I just can’t help profoundly missing my three little girls who have gone away ... the little ones with the stick-legs and ponytails.

Contact Mac Lane at maclane@northstate.net