I LIKE getting to work at least fifteen minutes before everything starts to spin up to speed. Back when it was just me, every day I was there a half hour early. But now that I take my daughter to school, I usually slide in at the last second, unless something goes wrong. Then my timetable is toast.
Nearly every day, it's one thing or another. One of the toughest jobs is to pry my daughter away from the flat iron to make her hair notoriously perfect in the morning. Not to mention how much explosive it takes prior to that just to roust her out of her overnight nest.
This morning was no different; we left the house after seven. Of course, the optimal time for leaving to get me to work a few minutes early is on or before 6:56 a.m. Almost never happens. Unless she has to go to tutoring or the early swim practice. Early swim practice commences at 0600. Tutoring at least by 0645. When she takes off for early class, I am free to get to work on time. It almost makes me giddy.
Today, being the garden variety c’mon-let’s-go-you’re-going-to-make-me-late-AGAIN-Daddy-leave-me
-alone-I’m-coming-are-you-ready-yet-we-gotta-go. The tensions eased a bit as we got on the road and looked at the beautiful fog and mist swirling along the fields and open spaces between the neighborhoods. The park beside the college looked like a watercolor.
All was well when, in a sudden blush of remembrance, she remembered that she left her orange wristband. Why was that a big deal? It was the “ticket” that allowed her to wear jeans this day and she was already dressed in denim. She got it for perfect attendance last week. It has her name on it and today’s date and everything.
Right then, I resigned myself to going back home, retrieving the permit, bringing it back, and then slithering into the office a half-hour late.
All because I didn't happen to have a school uniform to fit her there in the car, shame on me for my lack of preparedness. The things we do for our kids. When I finally arrived with the wristband, my girl was contrite and thankful. That helped.
Thus is the lot of dads; you get the chicken necks and backs, burnt pancakes and the run-back-home-to-get-something task.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Posted by aA at 6:17 PM