October 22 – “Just like Daddy”

I had one of those “child vs. the parental unit-types” confrontations yesterday with Cailyn.  In this case I was the parental unit-type in case you were having a hard time deciding.  I was assigned the responsibility of picking her up from school.  Not usually a problem there.  She really likes school and always has something exciting to share with us about her day.  In fact yesterday she greeted me by handing off her backpack and saying something was fantastic.  But the noise level is incredible right there in front of the school, with children waiting for parents, and parents arriving on foot and by car.  Mix that clamor with my two hearing aids and there is not much I can hear beyond a steady drone of noise.  But for some reason I was able to pick out the word fantastic.  Sounded like something went well for her.  I found out later that she had helped one of the teachers and he told her that she was fantastic.  Great discovery he made there, by the way. 

So we made our way away from the den of din and approached the street in front of the school.  I sensed the impending altercation before it actually happened, so I made Cailyn an offer.  “Do you want to hold my hand or part of your backpack while we cross the street?”  I had read her correctly.  She pouted up her bottom lip, pulled away from me, and stepped into the street.  Now safety is not a negotiable issue with us.  It trumps all else, even embarrassment, so I followed quickly and took her hand.  She did her best to fight me, but I carefully explained that there was no discussion on the safety issue.  Her ire riled up instantly, and she began to cry.  Never a happy time for a grandparent, right?  I held my ground – and her hand – until we crossed the street, and then I let go.  But the damage had been done.  Only four years old and already she felt humiliated in front of her peers.  Of course it never occurred to her that every one of them had a hand that was safely tucked into the palm of their parental unit-types.  I’m pretty sure they understood the rules of safety. 

Her cry quickly gave way to frustration and downright anger.  She dug in her heels on one side of the car, crossed her arms, looked at the ground and communicated with her body language that she wasn’t going anywhere.  That’s when the verbal war of words began.  But would it be considered a war if I didn’t fight back?  She went through a laundry list of lashing out, and I responded quietly each time:

“I wish you weren’t my DadDad anymore.” 

“I still love you no matter what.”
“I want Nana to come pick me up.”
“She loves you too, and she’s waiting for you at our house.”
“I want my Daddy.”
“He loves you too, but he’s at work.”
“I want to see my Mommy.”
“She loves you too, and she’ll be at our house in a few minutes to pick you up.  Whenever you are ready we can go meet her there.”

Before long it became evident that she was desperately seeking a way out of the situation that would allow her to save face.  So my middle child, “salvage the situation at all costs and leave everyone feeling happy” syndrome kicked in.  She glanced up at me with longing in her eyes.  I smiled back and in a conspiratorial whisper said, “Oh, and when you are ready, I got something at the store this afternoon that you wanted this morning and we didn’t have.”  Instantly, her demeanor changed.  With a wave of relief, her tears turned to laughter and she ran over to me, asking “What is it?”  I couldn’t resist one final comment, though.  With all the sincerity I could muster, I ventured, “I thought you were mad at me and didn’t want me to be your DadDad anymore.”  Her eyes sparkled as she giggled and leapt into her car seat, “Oh, DadDad, I was just kidding.” 

Ah.  Of course you were.  We headed home to enjoy one of the new poptarts now in the pantry, talking excitedly of dressing as a fire fighter in home center.  Wow.  “Just like Daddy.”

Psalms 118:8-9 says, “It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man.  It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in princes.”

Father, thank you for second chances and “just kiddings.”  Amen.