My little girl is 16. I want to tease her like I tend to do, but I just cannot. She has turned into such a great young adult. She is a good driver (insert the movie “Rainman” joke here) and a good kid. I am blessed.

When you are looking at your children at the different stages of their life, you tend to think back and your memory shoots out two categories to you. The funny, humorous ones and the scarier ones that you held them as close as you could for as long as you could.

The first memory that I think of is standing outside in the kindergarten line holding Tayler’s hand and getting ready to say goodbye to her on her very first day of school. The first day of kindergarten is a nightmare for parents because that really seems like the first time you are letting go of something so good, so pure and knowingly letting the big sharp teeth of peer pressure, clicks and bullies tempt and attack your beautiful, perfect child. I heard Atticus Finch’s movie quote from “To Kill a Mockingbird” going through my head.

“You’re gonna hear some ugly talk about this in school. But I want you to promise me one thing: That you won’t get into fights over it, no matter what they say to you.”

Looking down into her beautiful, trusting blue eyes was one of those moments when as a father you need to be strong so that your daughter knows that you will always be the rock that she can turn to in times of crisis. You need to be “Pa” Ingalls, John Walton, Howard Cunningham and John Wayne all wrapped into one perfect father figure, but at the same time you want to break down and just grab her and run and hide for just another year. A year that would include Eskimo kisses, Oreos and milk, and watching “Blue’s Clues” on the television.

But, of course, you cannot, and so you stand in line waiting until you finally let go of the fingers that you are wrapped around. I stand and watch as she goes into the school, and then I turn away and let the tears turn into bigger tears until I compose myself and go to work.

Luckily I got to do this same situation for a couple of weeks with Tayler until I think we both felt safe enough with the world of milk breaks and the letter H to get on with life.

My next memory is a scary one — pigtails.

I know what you are saying, but realize this. Mom is out of town, and it is third-grade picture day! Michael Myers from “Halloween” is not scarier than the thought of letting down your little girl on picture day.

I had done pigtails before, but that was just the single pony. (I did not know that there were names for all of these different kinds of ponies, but alas there is). This was the granddaddy of them all — the matching side ponies.

After Tayler got ready for the big day, she said, “Daddy, I am ready for my hair,” and my blood ran cold. I had the brush, two rubber bands that were strategically the same color as my daughter’s outfit (thanks to Bonnie) and a ruler.

Please now picture the next 30 minutes with the phrase “That is not how Mommy does it” being repeated over and over by Tayler and only being interrupted by an occasional “Ouch! Daddy.” Needless to say, I attempted this a few times while measuring the match of the two sides with a ruler each time. It took several times, but I think we finally did it.

Tayler was happy with it and I was happy with it. It was teamwork at its finest, and I also knew that in my back pocket I so would throw the school photographer under the bus if the pictures turned out bad. Blaming the school photographer was not beneath me if it meant keeping my coolness as a dad. The photos turned out beautiful, and to this day it gives us a funny story to talk about.

So the big One Six is here and although it is sweet to you, Tayler, it is bittersweet to me because I know that in only a few short years you will be out on your own, going to school, getting a job, buying a home and raising your own little family. I know that the pigtails and holding your hand in line are just memories that we will just talk about. I think it will be OK, though, because I got a few more years to make some new current and fun memories like watching “Sixteen Candles” on your birthday, scaring all the boys that will be coming over and watching scary movies in the dark with you, Mom, and the pups.

Happy birthday, honey, and happy driving!

I love you.

Tribune Publisher Scott Schmeltzer’s column appears every Thursday.