So, I’m playing single dad for a few days as my wife stays with her sister in Dallas, helping take care of the newborn soul I am going to corrupt as soon as she can understand me. Yesterday, I go to pick up my own child, the three year old, from daycare. She gets in the car, looks around, and asks if it’s morning.
I tell her that it is, in fact, afternoon, borderline evening (it’s 4:30 p.m.), and she looks as if I killed something she loved, like a grandparent or a Reese’s cup. I asked her what was wrong. She said we were not friends anymore.
“Why not,” I asked, confused as all hell.
“You hurt my feelings,” she replied, sniffling.
“You said it’s not morning.”
“Baby,” I finally said. “It’s not morning. I can’t make it morning.”
“YES IT IS MORNING,” she said, while also breathing fire somehow.
And we argued about it. We argued about whether or not 4:30 p.m. was morning. And I allowed it to keep going because, damnit, this made no sense.
I had to be right. I had to. To not be right meant logic was dead. Logic cannot be dead. If logic is dead, then son of a bitch, I can’t teach my students to use logic in their essays, which means they don’t use logic on their PARCC test, which means their scores suck, which mean my scores will suck.
So we go back and forth and back and forth for the entire 15 minutes it takes us to get home. And she is crying as we are pulling up. My daughter is in tears because it is not morning.
Do you know why she wanted it to be morning? Do you? I’m being serious when I ask this, because I don’t know at all why she wanted it to be morning. All I know is I had to console a heartbroken three year old who didn’t love me anymore and didn’t want to be my friend because I told her it was not morning.
We went inside the house, her crying, me carrying her pitiful self. I sat down in the recliner, I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. I turned on the PlayStation 4, opened Netflix, and turned on Daniel Tiger. For two hours, we watched Daniel Tiger. Finally, she looked at me and said “You’re my best friend, Daddy.”
We had pizza and watched wrestling until she went to bed. I can’t teach my students how to use logic in their essays now, but my kid loves me again. So there’s that.