FEB 7, 2011 – 12:00AM

We got an envelope from my daughter’s junior high the other day, and the big, dumb-old dad in me immediately started to worry.

Her grade card had come a few days earlier, and it was all good, but my paternal paranoia kicked in: Did she get caught doing something she shouldn’t? Not doing something she should? IS SHE IN BIG, BIG TROUBLE?

I was flooded with relief to see the envelope contained a letter from the principal, all right, but it was inviting us to an honor reception to mark my daughter’s being named to the honor roll. Included was one of those love-’em-or-hate-’em bumper stickers that says, “My child is a (school name) honor roll student.”

I have mixed feelings about those bumper stickers.

I understand parental pride. But I also understand the vast majority of the population can’t stand to hear parents to brag about their kids. The haters are either, A) childless and, thus, couldn’t give a rip about the bragger’s halfpint genius, or, B) parents themselves who only pretend to give a rip about said halfpint genius so they can use that bragging as a springboard to boast about their own precious progeny.

It’s no wonder the snarky “My kid can beat up your honor-roll student” bumper sticker is so popular.

I get it, so I’m reluctant to go around bragging about either of my kids. I mean, sure, my daughter’s smart and pretty and creative. Did I mention what a good musician she is?

I know it, but I swallow it.

Regardless, my daughter beamed when she read the letter, then asked what we were going to do with the sticker. My wife gave the spiel about how she doesn’t want to put any bumper stickers on her baby, er, Toyota. Something about resale values and sticky residue.

Hopefully, my daughter turned to me.

I explained I’m reluctant to put any undue stress on my piece of crud, er, Nissan, lest the pressure of applying the sticker should cause my rusting bucket of bolts to collapse into an oily heap.

But, I said, maybe I’d affix the sticker to my bike.

My daughter smiled and retreated to that place teen girls go when, well, they’re not absolutely required to be anywhere else, which is to say, gosh knows where.

Later, when we sat down to dinner, I saw the honor-roll bumper sticker was at my place.

I asked my daughter why, and she said it was so I could put it on my bike.

I laughed and said I was kidding, that I didn’t think I really could display it on my bike, and immediately my daughter was crestfallen.

I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to raise a teen girl’s crest, but it’s impossible, except perhaps by a certain, special teen boy, and I’m not about to let one of THOSE get anywhere near my (brilliant) little angel’s crest.

So she was forced to drag that poor, fallen crest all over the house, slamming it in doors and cabinets, stomping with it up stairs, beating her unfortunate little brother with it about his face and head. Poor crest.

That night, before bed, I explained nobody would be able to read the bumper sticker on my bike, that it likely would wrap around itself and cover up the crucial words and that in no way did that make me any less proud of her accomplishments. I assured her I’d find someplace to display the sticker in all its well deserved glory: maybe on my cubicle wall at work, or on my messenger bag or somewhere. She sulked a bit, but, being a teen girl, her emotional roller coaster eventually rolled back into the station and she moved on to bigger and worser injustices. OMG, right?!?!

So I need to find some place to put the sticker, and I’m contemplating a way to celebrate her genius on my primary mode of transportation.

I’m thinking about a sandwich-board sign with a larger-than-life mugshot proclaiming her brilliance, maybe a tow-behind banner — like those pulled by airplanes over big sporting events — proclaiming to the world just how bright my little girl is.

I reckon I could pedal the message past her school just as it’s letting out, as the kids mill about, gabbin’ and gossipin’ as they wait for their rides home.

That’d teach her.