Lollipops
I
was almost finished with my
column and it was a funny
one - all about me and my
unusual approach to auto mechanics.
There was a cool part about
my mechanic and even something
that resembled a moral to
the story. Well, sort of.
But
my three year old had long
finished her cinnamon toast
and was anxious to have me
take her on our walk to the
post office and the bank.
It's not so much that she
enjoys helping me with my
errands as much as she knows
that a stop at the bank inevitably
means that one of the kind
ladies behind the counter
will offer her a lollipop.
She
lives for lollipops.
So
we put on our shoes and headed
off together down the street,
sometimes walking, sometimes
running. We were, of course,
extra careful to stop at the
cross streets and look left,
then right, then left again
before crossing.
At
the post office I grabbed
the mail while she pulled
out a few of the Express Mail
forms from the counter and
asked what they were. I could
vaguely hear some sort of
a newscast in the background
but before I could hear what
was happening on the radio
she asked again "But Dadda,
what are THESE for?!" She
handed them to me and while
I told her what they were,
I put the forms back and made
a mental note to check the
TV when I got home to see
what was up. My daughter saw
that I had put them in the
wrong place and with a happy
"No Daddy, that isn't right!"
she pulled them back out and
put them away correctly. She
loves showing up her daddy.
We
walked to the bank, anticipating
the lollipop. A quick deposit
and then sobering news - the
bank was out of lollipops.
I tried to temper her disappointment
by explaining that we STILL
had two lollipops at home
from other trips. She was
sad until the teller handed
her a picture and a package
of crayons. Hey - it's no
lollipop, but new crayons
are always cool!
We
ran back to the house, racing
each other, but still being
extra careful to look both
ways at the cross streets.
Back at the place she's dubbed
"Home Sweet Home" my daughter
climbed on the couch with
her picture and crayons on
the coffee table ready to
lose herself in coloring.
Since three-year-olds rarely
seem to sit still for more
than twenty minutes, I figured
her preoccupation was a good
chance finish my column. I
flipped on the TV for some
background noise and headed
for the computer.
Obviously
I never finished the column.
Instead I spent the rest of
the day tuning in and out
of the news, mesmerized, horrified.
While
I watched the terrible events
of this day unfold on cable
television, my daughter happily
finished her drawing. Then
she spent some time carefully
recreating her own bedtime
routine for her three Teletubbies.
As I learned about the Pentagon
fire, she scattered potpourri
leaves on my chest and said
in a sing-song voice "You
can smell the flowers but
then you HAVE to go to bed.
Okay dadda? You HAVE to go
to bed." When I listened to
news reports about people
committing suicide by jumping
from the top floors of the
World Trade Center, she proudly
hung up her new finger-painting,
finally dry from the night
before. While I held back
tears of sadness and hugged
my little girl - feeling helpless
to make her world a better
place - she hugged me back
and said" Daddy, can we watch
Caillou now?!"
My
grandparents had to live through
World War II, my parents endured
Vietnam. I've been fortunate
to grow up in a generation
that's biggest international
event was the Gulf War - a
non-tragedy that even spawned
trading cards. Today's sobering
reminder of the worst of human
nature was my first experience
as a parent wondering what,
if anything, I can do to protect
my little girl from the scary
world beyond the doors of
"Home Sweet Home."
A
short while later, getting
ready for her nap, she scrambled
over the bed to get under
the covers and pulled the
sheet and comforter up tight
around her shoulders while
she giggled with delight.
"Soooo snuggy!" she said,
and smiled.
I
finished tucking her in and
kissed her on the forehead,
telling her that I loved her.
"Dadda?"
she asked before I left. "When
I get up can I have my lollipop?"
"Of
course you can."
I'm
relieved to know that, for
now, that lollipop is her
biggest concern.
This
column © 2001 Lee Totten
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