Somewhere out there, Little Girl is celebrating her birthday with her father.

I don't know Little Girl's name, nor do I know her father. Her father and I met, briefly, in a Wal-Mart checkout line. Our encounter was purely coincidental. He had been shopping for Little Girl's special day. I had picked up some odds and ends. We both went to the same "20 items or less" lane, because we thought we could get checked out faster.

But as I came up to the counter and started putting my few things on the conveyor belt, I realized this young father was taking items out of the store's plastic bags, and the woman at the cash register was scanning them -- again -- to deduct them from the bill.

This young father, you see, had grand intentions for Little Girl.

But his wallet was flat.

Seeing me hesitate for a second, the young father apologized for the holdup. "It's my daughter's birthday," he said, "and I forgot I had to pay for my mom's prescription yesterday."

He handed a cellophane package containing party hats to the checker.

Scan.

Deduct.

The young father opened a couple of the other bags and looked for more items to put back.

He glanced at me again. "I only get to see her one weekend a month. I was hoping her birthday would be special."

The checker and I exchanged looks that said we understood. But what's the proper protocol in a situation like this? Is this an express checkout lane? Shouldn't I and the three or four shoppers in line behind me start showing our "I'm in a hurry and you're in the way" impatience that has become so much a part of our fast-paced consumer society?

The young father and I made eye contact again. No words this time. But I know tears when I see them.

About the only things left in the young father's Wal-Mart bags were a flat cake with bright icing -- in colors any little girl would love -- and a box with a beautiful doll. These are not necessities, except to a young father who wants so desperately not to be a failure in the eyes of a little girl.

Scenes from my own experiences as a young father flashed through my mind.

How many times had I seen the looks on my sons' faces when I let them down in some way? Our Sullivan genes include one that is supposed to make us stoic in these situations. Sometimes it works, sometimes not.

I like to think I was a decent father, but I am haunted daily by memories of those times when I failed my sons while they tried not to show their disappointment -- in me. I could see it in their eyes. I still do. If I had to give myself a grade for parenthood, it would be barely passing, but I'd get an A-plus in remorse.

Standing in that Wal-Mart checkout line, I couldn't bear thinking about the approaching scene where the young father would stand before Little Girl with a cake. Or a doll. Not both. And no party hats. No candles. No apple juice. No ... .

"How much is the total?" I asked the checker, knowing it would embarrass the young father to have to answer.

"He's $17.38 cents short," she said.

I handed her a $20 bill. Looking at the father, I said, "I wish someone had been around to do this for me."

He started to protest. I cut him off. "You're holding up the line," I said.

He nodded. "Thanks," he said. He took his purchases and headed for a party.

Happy birthday, Little Girl. I hope your best birthday present gets the hug he deserves.

R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.