On Friday evening my daughter and I attended the annual ice cream social sponsored by her school. The event is held in a local park near the school and is always well attended. The weather was perfect and the grounds teamed with kids of all ages and sizes.

My daughter is twelve and, as any father of a preteen will tell you, it's no surprise I was almost immediately left to my own devices. I settled in a bench under a tree close to the swing set and indulged in my favorite pastime; people watching.

I gazed on my only child for a few moments, watching the greetings and awkward hugs as she found various friends in the throng of kids. It struck me how the unrestrained meetings of only a few years past, the giggles and excited embraces of eight years, had evolved to the more sedate salutations of twelve. It's no longer cool to hug excitedly and these kids are all about being cool.

Soon my daughter and her friends were out of my sight, probably off to find a quiet corner to talk of boys and their favorite bands, and I directed my gaze to the swing sets in front of me.

Here was a girl of about ten, all spindly arms and legs, climbing up the framework of the swings. Her face was screwed up in intense concentration as she pulled herself up, inch by inch, until she was at the very top of the bars. She hung there for a moment, swaying gently, a broad smile on her face. Then she leaped into the air with a shout, landing on her feet and immediately executed a perfect hand stand.

Here was a boy of eight, broad shouldered and a little heavy, dancing in a circle. His eyes were closed and he spread his arms wide, turning and twirling. He seemed completely unaware of the people that passed by, some pointing and grinning at his private antics. Whatever music it was that played in his head kept him happy and moving, not gracefully, but joyously and without restraint.

Here was a girl, no more than five, being pushed by her dad on the swings. She laughed and shrieked, "Higher, Daddy, higher!" Daddy complied and she soon became frightened. She cried out, "To high! To high!" and Dad slowed the swing. After a few minutes of more sedate flight she was begging him again to push her higher and higher. I smiled at her fear and her bravery, knowing that even this small moment would build the courage she would need for each stage of her life.

Here a group of young teen girls, eying every boy that passed by, trying so hard to be sophisticated but dissolving into giggles if one of the boys happened to glance their way.

Here a group of teen boys, most straddling bikes, wanting so much for the girls to look their way, the fear and excitement evident in each of their young faces.

And so it went, until my own child found her way back to me. She sat next to me on the bench and asked what I had been doing. I looked down at her, my pretty daughter, and smiled. "Not much, hon." I replied. "You know, just boring old guy stuff."