I've known about Hannah for years and, given my daughter's love from singing, dancing and all things pink, I knew there'd be a natural connection. But people warned me against it. They suggested that listening to endless bubblegum pop is an inevitable part of being a parent, so I should stave it off as long as I can.

But here's the deal. I love bubble gum pop. I always have, from my first Shaun Cassidy LP to the High School Musical soundtrack that I occasionally "forget" to eject from the Subaru's CD player after I've dropped the kid off at school.

So at my parents house a few months ago, I took the leap and let her watch a couple episodes of Hannah Montana. It's the story of Miley Stewart (Miley Cyrus) who lives with her wacky brother and widower dad (Billy Ray Cyrus) and moonlights as pop sensation Hannah Montana. 

I could practically see my daughter's brain atrophy as she stared at the set, spellbound. It was love. And, to be honest, I don't mind it either. It's just lame slapstick mixed with featherlight rock. And, right now, it's just the kind of mindless entertainment that I need, especially when it comes complete with a laughing, singing four-year-old in my lap.

So I picked up a used box set of season one and we spent the morning watching the adventures of Miley and the gang. And this afternoon, to her complete joy, we went to the El Capitan in Hollywood to seeHannah Montana: The Movie.

That's where things went terribly wrong. 

As I may have mentioned, I have a weird habit of crying in movies. Usually, I can't explain it. I have no idea why Beverly Hills Chihuahua drove me to tears or why I was so profoundly moved by Forrest Gump. 

However, I can tell you exactly why I sobbed uncontrollably through the third act of Hannah Montana. First off, for the last few months, I've been surviving largely on endorphins and alcohol, both of which becomes drastically less available when you're watching a preschooler 24/7, so I entered the theater in an emotionally weakened state. Second, this was a movie. Hannah Montana: The TV Show is a Disney sitcom, which means they write it to be as watery and fun as possible. Hannah Montana: The Movie is a Disney movie, which means they always play up the absentee mother and take as many cheap, melodramatic potshots as possible. I got away an occasional tear until the scene where Billy Ray breaks up with the girl of his dreams because he "needs to be there for Miley and doesn't have room for a relationship." Then, when Miley serenades Billy about how tough it must be raise her alone and what a great dad he is, I completely lost my shit. Screw you, Billy Ray Cyrus and your achy, breaky heart!

Fortunately, my daughter was too into the "Hoedown Throwdown" dance and too jacked up on pink lemonade to notice. I held it together through the rest of the film and our shabu-shabu dinner, only completely dissolving in the car on the way home after she'd passed out. 

Some day, she's going to figure out what a mush-burger her dad is. Hopefully, sensitive new-age guys will be back in vogue by then.