I have taken some chances in my lifetime. I have driven too fast. I once mouthed off to a 305-pound All-American defensive lineman. I even bungee jumped. But nothing compared to the situation I put myself in a couple of weeks ago.

I volunteered at my daughter’s preschool. For two and a half hours, I found myself at the mercy of 14 4- and 5-year-olds.

Bridget could not wait. She had waited all year for me to find a time that fit into my schedule. I actually could have done it earlier in the year, but just didn’t take the time.

Maria had actually volunteered several times already this year. After each time, she said the same thing.

“I can’t wait until you have your turn.”

I always sensed a sadistic tone to her voice when she said that. How bad could these kids be? I’m bigger than they are. I can take them.

I thought that until I got into the room. Stack them on top of each other, and I’m dead meat.

I had a plan to make them my friend. A plan to get me on their good side. A plan to keep them so unfocused that they could never hone in on my weaknesses.

But my wife wouldn’t let me bring Mountain Dew and Krispy Kreme for the snack. I had to bring animal crackers and milk. How boring is that?

I didn’t stand a chance. They would peg me for just another sucker sentenced to 150 minutes under their spell.

The funny thing is, none of that happened. Not one kid cried. Not one kid threw a fit. Not one kid threatened to punch me in the knee.

I actually had a good time. I did need a beer when we got pizza for lunch, but I pretty much expected that.

After surviving that death-defying stunt, I waited just one more week before facing another big hurdle. This time, I had Maria by my side.

We used our first non-family babysitter.

I don’t know what took us this long. We have spent some time away from Bridget, but my mother-in-law has generally taken her when we needed a break.

Luckily, a teenager up the street could sit with Bridget while Maria and I headed to York to see a comedy show. We were a little nervous as we headed across Route 116.

By the time we parked the car, most of my fears had disappeared. Everything would be fine, I told myself. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket to put it in silent mode as we headed towards our seats.

“One missed call,” the screen read. My heart sank. I pressed a button and another message appeared. “One voice message.”

My mind raced as I waited for the message. Had something bad happened? Was Bridget crying for us? Had she tied up the babysitter and wanted to give her ransom demands?

I let out a sigh of relief when I heard the voice of my friend Marcel taunting me from the tailgate prior to a soccer game in D.C.

I don’t know why I worried. If Bridget could survive preschool three days a week without us, why would she miss us for a few hours on a Saturday night?

She’s much better at this taking chances thing than I’ll ever be. I just hope she has more sense than to bungee jump.