Filing away a memory; a small town moment for a small town dad

Remind me some time, when I am worrying about bills, or money, or career, or other nonsense things, that I have a favorite memory.  The memory of a time when the world opened up in the most gentle fashion and revealed an essential truth to me – that I am a lucky man.

It happened last night. I was exhausted after a very hectic weekend and looking for reasons to get out of taking the dog for her night time tour of hedges, mailboxes, and assorted parked cars.  I wanted to go to bed.  I considered my options and they were scant – the 13 year old was spending the night at a buddy’s house.  He is my usual “go-to” person for dog walking duty.  My wife was already getting ready for bed – so that was out of the question.  I sat on the edge of the couch and tried to apply some mathematical reason to the likelihood that a teeny little dog’s digestive tract was robust enough for her to “hold it” another seven hours until I took her out in the morning.

So it happened that my preoccupation with ditching the dog-walking duties was interrupted by the appearance of my six year old daughter – freshly scrubbed from her bath and in pajamas and slippers with the leash in one hand and a flashlight in the other. She was smiling – mostly she always is smiling.

“I’ll take the dog with you dad,” she said – eyes sparkling at the prospect of staying up way too late and compounding that luxury by venturing out into the neighborhood during what is the late night news hour.  

“You hold the leash and I’ll carry my Tinkerbell lantern so we can see…you know…when she goes to the bathroom.” For extra-cute effect, she raised the Tinkerbell lantern while she spoke.

I relented.  Out the door the three of us went, me holding the leash and the 6 year old holding my right hand in her left, and her lantern in her right.

We walked around the neighborhood and talked about many things great and small – her cool new lantern – rescued from obscurity at a weekend flea market – boys she “may or may not” have a crush on in our neighborhood, and my mom – Kristin’s grandmother – who passed away in May.

The weather was perfect for a late night walk – clear skies, just enough humidity to remind you it is summer, warm enough to walk around the block in your jammies and cool enough that you could appreciate the gentle breeze for just the breeze itself.

As we completed our circuit and approached the house, the 6 year old reminded me that we normally celebrated her upcoming birthday with my mother and reflected on how that might be kind of hard this year since Grandma passed away.  It is true – my mom’s birthday is a week from my daughter’s. I agreed that it would be hard and told her we would find a way to get through it.

We were home. The warmth of the front yard light, the closeness of the summer evening, the jammies, the hand holding and freshly scrubbed hair – it was all just a perfect moment – a dad with his daughter just having a chat.  She walked up the two steps ahead of me and then turned around to look me in the face.

“Dad?” she said “I know you might be worried about your mom’s birthday coming around and not being together with her on my birthday this year.  Don’t worry – I’ll share my birthday with you and that will make it still a special day, ok? So don’t worry about Grandma – she will be watching us, and the day will still be special, ok?”  And with that, she stood on her toes, looped her arms around the back of my neck to give me a hug, actually patted my head, and said “I love you.”

So if you hear me complaining about long lines at Meijer, the price of gas, the heat, or anything else - if it comes up that I am complaining about something not going my way, just remind me about that memory. You have my permission.

Thanks for stopping by my blog today – wherever you are –whoever you are with, I hope your day is warmed by the idea that you are loved, and in that essential truth is all the luck you will ever need.

Dennis