"Daddy!!! I'm scared!!!"

Last night, in her bedroom, after we'd come home from her 10 year-old cousin's birthday party. Her boy cousin, and his guy friends, with nerf automatic weapons.

Me, earlier that day: "Olivia, where are you going?"

Olivia, with a neon-green nerf Tommy gun nearly as big as she was, locked and loaded: "to shoot some boys."

So it had been a really exciting birthday party. And now, probably for the first time, Olivia had to try to wind down all by herself. Trooper that she was, she lasted about twenty minutes and then came downstairs sobbing.

Which was fine. I got it. It was a busy day, a long day. So we all got to watch Top Gear together.

But I was not prepared for tonight. Normally, when Olivia decides to make a stand, it goes like this:

"No, Daddy! I will not leave this zoo!"

"Olivia, if you do not get in this car I will ground you for a week."

*SIGH* "Ok."

Or...

"No, Daddy! I will not get in the tub!"

"Olivia, if you do not get in that tub I will shave you bald."

*SIGH* "Ok."

And then there was...

"No, Daddy! I will not cross this skywalk!"

"Olivia, if you do not walk with me I will toss your butt over this rail!"

Well, ok, even I knew that one was a little over the top. She proceeded to lecture me about what a terrible daddy I was and how sweet little girls deserved better until we'd reached the other end of the walkway and took the elevator down.

But tonight was unexpected.

"Daddy! I'm still scared! I want to go downstairs!"

"Olivia, it's fine. You're fine. And tomorrow's a school day. You need to go to bed."

"No! I can't! I'll get scared again!"

And around and around we went, until I got tired of bargaining.

"Ok," I said, in a stern but not angry voice, "I'll let you go downstairs. But if you do, if you do, I get to throw away a toy."

In other words, I saw her last bet, and I raised. Usually this is where Olivia folds.

"Fine, daddy," she said, proving she is emphatically Ellen's child, "I still want to go downstairs and watch shows!"

Effectively, see and raise.

"Olivia, if I get to pick, I'm going to pick Butterscotch."

See and raise again.

Butterscotch is this ridiculous robotic horse she got for Christmas years ago. It's huge, still nearly as tall as she is. She hardly ever plays with it, but it's definitely a sentimental favorite.

Olivia knows, she knows, I do not bluff. I could tell by the look in her eyes she knew I was serious.

In other words, I went all in.

Now, most of you out there know the next play, and you'll think she was playing me, but you didn't see the look in her eyes. She knew the stakes, and knew she had the weaker hand. She wasn't bluffing either.

"Ok, daddy," she said, in a defeated, and quite serious, tone, "you..."

you can throw her away."

Call.

Some people say children are ignorant. Some people say children are easily frightened. I say these people don't have children. I saw bravery tonight, in the eyes of a child.

Oh, come on. You think I really am a monster? I just spent the past hour and a half reading to her and playing "remember when" games.

Butterscotch is perfectly safe. She always was.

And only now do I realise I have a much more skilled poker player sitting across from me at the table.