An unsung joy of parenthood

I am in the very crowded lobby for the main theater of the huge performing arts center our oil money bought us during the Great Splurge of the '80s.  The Anchorage Youth Symphony, for which my daughter plays bassoon, will be performing tonight.

I am here alone; she insisted that I invite no one else to this concert because she fears that it will "suck so bad."  Her mom brought her, and we plan to meet up afterward so that I can take her home.

I'm milling through the thick crowd when I feel a sharp rap on my arm.  My daughter has materialized from nowhere.

"Dad!  Are you looking for me?" she demands.

"No, I—"

"Good! Please don't!"

And then she is gone.