When Laura was born I set out to write a song for her. I'd always wanted to write a song, tried a few times in my teens, actually did a couple of Weird Al Yankovich-like parodies in my youth (following my father's example), but I didn't have a whole lot of musical knowledge, despite five years of piano lessons. (I knew I was in trouble during Year Three when I was placed among the beginning students on the program for the annual recital.) Anyway, I figured if Frank Sinatra and Phil Silvers (yes) could team up to write a song about Sinatra's first daughter, Nancy, then I could do the same for my little girl.

The Sinatra song was called "Nancy With the Laughing Face." I've since learned Frank Sinatra had nothing to do with composing it, only recording it. Comedian Silvers had help from legendary pop composer Jimmy Van Heusen. With that kind of assistance, anyone could write a song.

I was on my own and operating under a handicap, there already being a fabulous song called "Laura", from the movie classic of the same name. Every time I tried to write something, as I anticipated what kind of girl my Laura would become, I crashed into Johnny Mercer's haunting lyrics:

Laura is the face in the misty night
Footsteps that you hear down the hall
The laugh that floats on a summer's night
That you might never quite recall

And you see Laura on a train that is passing through
Those eyes, how familiar they seem
She gave your very first kiss to you,
That was Laura, but she's only a dream.

Put them to David Raksin's music and you've got the kind of song few people write anymore.

Mine had started out, "Laura, just a name she goes by ... but you can call her many things ... "

And then I'd go into a music rundown of her many talents and qualities. But I never got beyond that point, which I wish were also true of the folks who write 90 percent of the music on every CD that's made these days. But that's a whole other story.

As for Laura Major ... well, to me, she and the Mercer-Raksin song are a good fit, especially that part about the laugh that floats on a summer's night. (Though the song's next line would have to be changed to "And you see Laura on a horse that gots trotting by.")

Part of me wishes I had gone further with my song, part of me is relieved that I'm not stuck with the embarrassment the song could have brought Laura ... and me, for that matter. The song would have been based on parental expectations, and such expectations inevitably are a sore family subject because they almost always take root in worlds that no longer exist.

It's no cop-out to say all three of my children exceeded expectations, but did so in ways I never anticipated. In retrospect it's often easy to chart and explain the paths various family members followed, though there are always a few twists and turns that defy understanding. You never know your children as well as you thought. Also turns out you really didn't know your aunts, uncles and cousins, either.

Of my three children, Laura has been the most surprising, probably because she is the most self-contained and the most willing to yield the spotlight. In game show terms, her two siblings were prizes well displayed in advance, while Laura was the mystery prize behind door number two.

Sometimes it seems family traits are doled out like items in a will. My mother, a very private person, handed this trait to Laura, who generally goes about her business without verbal detours into every ache, pain or emotional crisis she may have endured since our last conversation. However, she apparently processes life's frustrations a lot better than did my mother, who'd erupt every now and then when she could no longer contain what had been festering inside.

As a child Laura occasionally would stomp off for no reason that was apparent to the rest of us. Whatever the problem, she insisted on working it out alone in her room. Talking didn't make it better.

As an adult Laura is remarkably constant, perhaps benefiting from answers she found thirty years ago during that time alone in her room. My guess is she wouldn't panic in a crisis. She'd probably make a joke about it, a trait she did not inherit from my mother, who simply would have said, "I told you so."

Laura's brother, Jeff, had a two-year headstart in life, and basked in the attention given him, especially by grandmothers who seemed greatly amused by everything he said and did. Well, why not? Jeff's a very funny guy. Had he told me years ago he was quitting college to pursue a career as a stand-up comic, I'd have encouraged him; to me he was creative enough to succeed. Such a career choice certainly wouldn't have surprised teachers who'd been subjected to Jeff's humor since first grade. These teachers generally – but not always – gave him good reviews.

It wasn't surprising that Laura was a quiet child, a perfect audience for her brother. Only occasionally would she see an opportunity she couldn't resist and fire a zinger that stunned Jeff into silence. Briefly.

Laura's teachers from kindergarten through high school, while praising her academic work, said she'd fare even better if she contributed more to classroom discussion.

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Eventually she did what a lot of shy people do – she turned to acting, performing in school plays, later doing community theater after she graduated from Mount Holyoke.

Her first performances, however, were years earlier with the Major-Chard Players (or the Chard-Major Players, if you prefer). Members of this elite group were my parents' grandchildren. Whenever all of them were assembled at my parents' home, which, thankfully, was never more than three times in any given year, these grandchildren – Brian and Danielle Chard; Jeff, Laura and later Meridith Major – would turn my parents' living room into an Evening at the Improv for what we called their "routines." This was entertainment only a doting grandmother could fully appreciate. My father, a comedian in his own right, enjoyed playing the role of heckler.

The Major-Chard Players used whatever props were handy, a favorite being what I believe is called a candlestick telephone, which was the standard in the early 1900s. You see them all the time in old movies. With one hand you hold the base (which includes the speaker); with the other hand you hold the earpiece. My father brought one home after the Solvay Process Company discarded it. Laura later borrowed it for her high school's production of "Seven Keys to Baldpate," a period mystery-comedy by George M. Cohan.

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Another item at my parents' home that fascinated my children was Newton's Cradle (aka balance balls), a classic office gift from the 1960s. My sister had purchased it as a Christmas present for my father. It gets its name from Isaac Newton's third law of motion – for every action in nature there is an equal and opposite reaction.

You've all seen Newton's Cradle – five steel balls hung on string. Pull one ball back and let it drop, it swings forward and strikes the others, but only the ball on the other end moves. Pull two balls back, and the two at the opposite end move. Et cetera.

Unfortunately, it never took more than five minutes for my kids to twist those balls and string into what looked like a hopeless tangle. I was the only one with the patience to untangle Newton's Cradle – which I did despite the certainty it would be re-tangled again and again during our visit. However, my efforts weren't wasted. They prepared me for an even more daunting task involving what for several years was Laura's most striking feature – her long, Rapunzel-like hair.

That was a surprise because early indications were she preferred short hair. That's what we concluded when she was about four years old ... A neighbor had come to the house to cut my wife's hair. The two women were in the kitchen when Laura went into her room and found some scissors, probably her round-edged children's scissors. She'd started the day with hair that had grown to almost shoulder length, but with those scissors managed to trim about four inches along the right side of her face. She then went into the kitchen to test the reaction to her new look, which was stunning, to say the least.

While it was an interesting hairstyle, Laura agreed with her mother's suggestion that more work was needed. Our hair-cutting neighbor saved the day, giving Laura an even trim all around her head, at which point she could have auditioned for a pre-school production of "Joan of Arc."

Laura never repeated the mistake. Indeed, it would be twelve years or so before she allowed anything more than a slight trim on hair that eventually reached her waist, but never crossed the line into Crystal Gayle territory. No, wait, I almost forgot about the gum-in-the-hair incident ... which means there was one time in twelve years that she reluctantly consented to more than a slight trim.

The chance of gum getting stuck in it was one of several drawbacks to Laura's long hair. No matter how much time she took, Laura never managed to dry her hair after a wash. She was easy to spot in a crowd. Just look for the girl whose hair was wringing wet.

Pre-teen Laura also had a knack for whipping her hair into a comb-destroying knot monster. That's when she turned to The Untangler. Me. Talk about a father-daughter bonding experience. Actually, the real bonding experience involved the gum. That was a bitter defeat for The Untangler. Laura wasn't pleased, either.

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Laura's childhood included an encounter with one of those dreaded parental expectations. Men want sons to play baseball, women want daughters to be ballerinas. Neither expectation was met in our family, though all three kids gave it a shot. Laura was four when she was enrolled in a ballet school. No tap, no jazz, no gymnastics. Ballet. Period.

She tolerated the lessons which continued for at least two years, but obviously she preferred to spend those hours elsewhere. At age 7 she discovered horses, and from then on "elsewhere" was a stable where she enthusiastically took riding lessons. Riding remained her biggest interest for many years. She competed in horse shows and eventually had a horse of her own.

Laura loves animals, animals love Laura. Nothing excites Jenga, our cairn terrier, as much as a visit from Laura, the only person who allows this demented animal to sit on her shoulders and snuffle her hair.

No account of Laura's childhood is complete without mentioning ABBA, the Swedish musical group that for awhile was about as popular worldwide as The Beatles. The whole family enjoyed their music, though Laura and my wife Olinda became the biggest fans. We saw them perform in concert in Boston, actually had passes that got us backstage afterward, but it was late and the scene was a madhouse that wasn't fit for children. So our backstage visit was brief. That was many years ago, but we still play ABBA's music and enjoy it as much as ever.

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Upon graduation from Mount Holyoke College Laura was no longer the shy person she used to be. She has kept herself busy with a wide variety of activities, several of which qualified her as our family athlete – playing tennis, competing in triathlons, taking kickboxing lessons.

Years ago she became an avid fan of the Boston Red Sox and New England Patriots, but since being transferred to Charlotte, Laura has split her allegiance between the Patriots and the Carolina Panthers, though New England's Tom Brady remains her favorite quarterback.

Like other women in the family – and this I cannot explain – she has her own cue and enjoys playing pool. My sister, Mary, played in a pool league about 40 years ago, before it was the thing to do. My younger daughter, Meridith, also has played in pool leagues and several tournaments. This is one of those twists and turns referred to earlier. I don't know where this interest in pool originated. Perhaps from a cousin my parents never talked about. It had to be a girl cousin because Major men are terrible at pool.

Laura continues to surprise. Recently she did another very un-Major-like thing – she took up golf. I mean, real golf, not that miniature stuff I used to play years ago.

Which is another reason I'm glad I never finished my Laura song. I knew I'd be able to describe her in many ways, but I never dreamed she'd grow up to be a horseback-riding running-swimming-cycling Red Sox-rooting Patriots-loving kickboxing golfer.

– JACK MAJOR