June 17 – “Traitor to my species”

I felt like a traitor to my species.  It's not like I intended for it to ever happen.  I held out for so long.  Three male children.  Five male grandchildren.  Who would have thought it could happen?  How did it happen?    Yesterday I was assigned the enviable task of caring for young Cailyn while Chris took Mom to a dentist appointment.  Not a problem, right?  A joy, in fact.  And the mission began harmlessly enough.  We watched the last inning of the Astros game.  The game was nothing to get excited about, of course (wait 'til next year!), but the fact that she was patient enough to last through a whole inning was amazing to me.  This little girl has potential.  But baseball doesn't last forever, so soon we were on to other things.    A regular part of our experience together has always been hunting for bugs under the garden stones in the front yard.  She squeals with delight rather than fear at the sight of even the tiniest fire ant.  But alas, the drought had driven the most interesting insect creatures farther underground.  And the oppressive heat made it impossible to remain outside for long.  At least not in the front yard.    She decided that perhaps it would be cooler in the back.  With bubbles.  Sure.  Bubbles always make the weather seem nicer.  So we grabbed the bottle of orange scented bubbles and headed outside.  Orange scented bubbles?  You have to be kidding me.  Why, the bubbles we had when I was a kid … OK.  That shows my age.  Moving on here.    Bubbles didn't last long either.  Even the relatively shady confines of the back yard didn't mask the heat.  So back in we went.  Now Cailyn is a girl, so I don't fault her for the occasional foray into dolls and such.  But it has always been difficult at best for me to get excited at the prospects of tea parties and Barbie doll dressups.  I do give it my best shot, and use the opportunity to try to direct her play toward more creative times of fun.  Like teaching her dolls to do triple back flips or hang by their feet from the ceiling fan.    Alas and alack.  Yesterday Cailyn had a creativity of her own in mind.  She discovered a robot in our bedroom.  A big robot.  It came up to about her waist.  She was fascinated with it at first, just wanting to look at it from afar.  And then she touched it.  And then she picked it up and cuddled with it.  And then … and then … I can hardly bring myself to say it, for I allowed it to happen with not even an attempt to salvage the out of control situation.  She wrapped the robot in a baby blanket and put it in a doll crib.  I felt terrible for the poor creature.  I had heard horror stories about situations like this.  Toys designed for battle, created to train boys to be rough and tough, mercilessly tossed into … a baby bed.  How shameful.  How totally degrading.  How … Wait, she's looking at me with those big brown eyes.  She turning her head to side and smiling at me.  She's speaking, "Look, DadDad" … How … How … cute.  Hey, even a rough and tough robot needs to take a nap sometime, right?   Proverbs 15:3 says, "The eyes of the Lord are everywhere, keeping watch on the wicked and the good."   Father, never take your eyes from the precious children.  They so get the "unconditional" of your love.  Amen.