In today's increasingly complicated world, it's often difficult for parents to connect with their daughters - and especially so for fathers. In this unique and invaluable guide, Dr. Meg Meeker, a pediatrician with more than twenty years' experience counseling girls, reveals that a young woman's relationship with her father is far more important than we've ever realized. To become a strong, confident woman, a daughter needs her father's attention, protection, courage, and wisdom. Dr. Meeker shares the ten secrets every father needs to know in order to strengthen or rebuild bonds with his daughter and shape her life - and his own - for the better. Inside you'll discover:

• the essential virtues of strong fathers - and how to develop them

• the cues daughters take from their dads on everything from self-respect to drugs, alcohol, and sex

• the truth about ground rules (girls do want them, despite their protests)

• the importance of becoming a hero to your daughter

• the biggest mistake a dad can make - and the ramifications

• the fact that girls actually depend on their dads' guidance into adulthood

• steps fathers can follow to help daughters avoid disastrous decisions and mistakes

• ways in which a father's faith - or lack thereof - will influence his daughter

• essential communication strategies for different stages of a girl's life

• true stories of "prodigal daughters" - and how their fathers helped to bring them back

Dads, you are far more powerful than you think - and if you follow Dr. Meeker's advice, the rewards will be unmatched.

In September 1979, my father spoke a single sentence that changed my life. I had graduated from Mt. Holyoke College earlier in the year and had been rejected from several medical schools, so I was living at home pondering Plan B. One evening, on my way upstairs, I overheard my father talking to a friend on the phone. This was unusual, for my father was not a very social man and a phone conversation with a friend was noteworthy. I stopped outside the door of his study, which was slightly ajar, and listened.

"Yes," he was saying. "They really do grow up fast, don't they? I'm excited to tell you that my daughter, Meg, will he starting medical school next fall. She's not quite sure where, though."

My head went hot. I thought I was going to pass out. What was he saying? Medical school? I'd just received a handful of rejections. I'll be going to medical school next fall? How can he say that! What does he know that I don't?

His words alone didn't change the course of my life. His tone, his inflection, and his confidence had an amazing impact as well. My father believed something about me that I couldn't believe myself. Not only did he believe it, hut he, a doctor himself, put his reputation on the line in front of his friend.

As I backed away from the door, my heart rate doubled. I felt thrilled and excited, because my father's confidence gave me hope. Going to medical school had been my dream since I was a young teenager. And sure enough, in fall 1980, I started medical school, just as my father had said. He called me routinely and asked specifics about my classes. Was I understanding gross anatomy? Was I spending enough time on histology? Did I need slides to look at just for fun? It didn't matter what my response was; he packaged them up and sent them to my apartment so that I would have something interesting to do on Friday nights, which, of course, were study nights.

Don't misunderstand. My father was not a man who needed to live his life through his children. As a matter of fact, many times he discouraged me from going into medicine because he quite accurately predicted the disaster and misery of managed care medicine. I wanted to go. Did I want to because I wanted to please him? Not really. I didn't need to do that. I wanted to go because I really wanted to be like his friend - an orthopedic surgeon. This man let me come into the operating room and watch surgery for hours at a time. That was the coolest thing I had ever seen, and I wanted to be able to do it.

What my father gave me was confidence. Since I revered him as a giant in the medical field and a giant in our home, I knew that what he believed was right. It didn't matter what he said, I still believed he was right.

And he gave me a belief in myself. He communicated to me, I don't remember exactly how, that I could do anything I wanted to do. There weren't many women in his medical school class, he said, but boy were they good. They were good, and I could be too.

My father always made sure that I knew that he loved me. He was an eccentric man, quiet, antisocial, and extremely smart, he published medical papers in different languages and kidded that only peculiar people became pathologists like himself. But he loved me. I was his daughter and that was a very important thing to be. Did he tell me often? No. He didn't talk much. So how did I know? I knew because I heard him worry about me to my mother. I watched him cry when my brother and I left home for college. He came to many of my athletic events but missed many more. But that didn't matter. I knew that he thought I was terrific at sports. (In fact, he believed me to be much better than I really was, but I didn't want to set him straight on that one.) I knew he loved me because he made our entire family go on vacations together. Most of the time I hated going, particularly when I was a teen, but he made me go anyway. He knew something I didn't. He knew that we needed time to be together. In the same camp. In the same dining room. On the same hiking trails or in the same canoes.

Copyright © 2007 by Meg Meeker, M.D.

Tags: Fatherhood, Parenting and Families

About the Author

Meg Meeker, M.D., has spent more than twenty years practicing pediatric and adolescent medicine. The author of Strong Fathers, Strong Daughters, she is a popular speaker on teen issues and is frequently heard on nationally syndicated radio and television programs. She lives in northern Michigan with her husband and four children.