All it takes is a smile from my little girl and I feel a million bucks. When she giggles, then shakes her head, then theatrically runs away from my scary-monster impression, I truly believe that I am her superhero. I am aware that this may not last forever, that an apocalyptic teenage tsunami has been forecast and that I should be building my beachfront bungalow of fatherhood from concrete and steel with a nice high sandbag wall rather than quaint palm fronds holding up a decorative mud roof. Well-intentioned friends have warned with Nostradamus-esk prognostication that my little butterfly is destined to turn into a caterpillar, but not a cute little green one that nibbles on leaves, instead one with fangs and claws and hormones derived from kryptonite which has the power to transform Super Dad into Villain Dad, despite performing the same heroic deeds. But you know what? I don’t mind. It’s part of being a Super Dad. How else can Super Dad prove his epic qualities if not properly tested by Cranky Teen Girl (and for good measure from time-to-time by BeautifullyWonderfulButSometimesUnpredictablyGrumpyButIStillLoveHerAnywayBecauseSheIsAwesome Woman)? After all, the true quality of a super hero is how he responds during the tough times. For now though, I will bask in the good times and cherish the fact that there is one adorable little girl who wants nothing more than to be my faithful crime-fighting sidekick. And who knows, perhaps she’ll defy the naysayers and grow into NotAtAllCranky Teen Girl.