Next week, my daughter Kara Zor-El turns 13.
Thirteen. The number itself sounds like a drumroll. Or maybe the closing of a door. Don’t get me wrong—she’s still my Kara. She still laughs at my jokes (sometimes), still lets me hug her in public, if no one’s watching.
But there’s a shift happening. A quiet one. She’s becoming more independent. More herself. And less… dependent on me.
That’s the part they don’t warn you about in the parenting manuals—how being a good parent means slowly making yourself obsolete. It's not the sass or the eye rolls that get me (though those are now part of our daily programming). It’s the realization that the tiny human who once needed help tying her shoes is now helping me figure out how to do things like use TikTok.
And yes, I said her full name: Kara Zor-El. Named after Supergirl. Because my daughter from the beginning, she’s been my superhero. But now she’s entering a chapter where I don’t get to be the sidekick in every episode. She’s building her own storylines, and sometimes I’m just a background character who brings snacks.
Still, I’m proud of my daughter. Proud of the kind, witty, curious person she’s becoming. I know she'll face the world with strength. But forgive me if I linger a little too long at the doorway, watching her walk away with that oversized hoodie, thinking, where did the time go? Wasn’t it just yesterday she singing Disney's "Let it Go" over and over again? What happened to mispronouncing words like “spaghetti”?
So happy birthday, Kara Zor-El. You might not need me like before. But I’ll always be here, cheering you on from the sidelines—dad jokes locked and loaded.
Love you, Supergirl.
Budman's iPhone
