The Last Cute-Kid Story (for one child, at least)

I have been back for a few days but only now have a chance even to acknowledge it "here." For what that may be worth to my legions of readers.
My older daughter, G., successfully turned 10 on Sunday. That is, of course, the basic outcome one holds out for one's children when one chooses to feed them once they arrive; but, of course, one hopes for other things for one's child besides "mere" survival. One (well, I) also hopes that one raises the sort of child that other people will not merely tolerate but actually look forward to seeing and, even better, invite to their houses to consort with their own children. I am happy, indeed thrilled, to say that G.'s mother and I (but mostly G.'s mother, since I've not lived with them for almost 5 years now) have succeeded in spades in this regard. She is a favorite among the other families in the neighborhood, at school, and at church. Finally, one hopes that one's child doesn't become a sort of walking mannequin that Society can dress up as it wills with the fashion/idea(l) du jour but, instead, discerns, picks and chooses in accordance with a set of core values that determines and helps him/her maintain his/her integrity. It may seem strange to claim that a 10-year-old has either accomplished this or is well on the way to doing so, but G., I firmly believe, has done so. To my enormous relief, when I took her clothes shopping for her birthday she showed no interest in the sorts of clothes designed with no other purpose than to present prepubescent girls as though they were sexual objects; instead, she looked at clothes that were modest but decidedly feminine (and to that I must attribute her mother's influence, but G.'s selections were still her own--neither she nor I ever raised the question of "whether Mommy will like it").
Parents hope for all the above and do what they can to help those things come to pass, but they still hold their breath and hope and hope and hope some more. And with puberty looming ever larger on G.'s horizon, I'm still holding my breath and hoping. But what makes me feel so good about my daughter's chances of becoming an adult that you, dear reader, would want to meet or have your own children be friends with or hire as an employee is this: I don't know if other parents feel this way, but the things I most delight in when I think about my daughter are those things that I cannot identify as something her mother and I are responsible for. Sure--one can encourage, say, compassion for others in one's children, but how does one really TEACH that? G.'s compassion for others is of such a depth that I can only look on in wonderment and hope that neither her parents nor someone(s) else screws that up.
Enough rhapsodizing. G. is 10. She is soon to begin maturing into womanhood. She will fail at times, and others will fail her. I fear that that deep compassion she has will make her vulnerable; but she already shows, in her very polite but firm way, that she won't put up with anyone who doesn't respect her. Thus, I'm as hopeful as a parent has a right to be that she'll be not just okay but better than okay.
Thanks for reading all this.