Many years ago, following a lengthy custody dispute, I found myself as my daughters (then 4 years old) primary care provider. Her mother had moved to Colorado and wanted to take her with her, but the courts sided with me. I was so relieved and excited. It was just the two of us. We shared a two bedroom apartment near downtown San Diego, near Balboa Park, Old Town, and the zoo.
We had an amazing summer. Our location was awesome. We would spend weekends at the beach and everyday after school we would walk across the street to Balboa Park and play on the swings and jungle gyms. Every night she would take a shower and sit on the couch in her towel while I made dinner. It was never the best meal, but certainly not the worst. After dinner, she would sit in front of me as I combed her hair out and put it in a ponytail. We spent morning, noon, and night together. We were a team. Wherever I went, she went.
Near the end of that first summer together, I'm not gonna lie, I was exhausted. She was never a difficult child. In fact, she was my best friend and I enjoyed every minute I had with her, but at the same time, I was kinda looking forward to her returning to school. She needed time with kids her age and I needed time with friends my age. Im not ashamed of that. Ask any single parent and they will tell you that sometimes you need to have grown up time.
It must have been just a few days before the school year started anew. We were sitting in the apartment watching movies when my downstairs neighbor, and good friend, Christine, came up and asked if she could take my daughter to the dog park to watch the dogs and give me a chance for a nap. Sure! I trusted Christine, my daughter knew her well, so I acquiesced and agreed to let her go to the park.
I enjoyed the break, but couldnt relax as I felt lost without her and worried about her, just as any parent would worry about their kid when not in their presence. After an hour I started to worry, but agreed to give it a little more time. I mean, what could possibly happen, right?
Well, about 45 minutes later, Christine comes in with my daughter in tow. As my baby girl comes in, I see that she has been crying and has a big old shiner on her forehead.
"What the hell happened, Christine?"
"I'm so sorry! We were watching all the dogs when a big dog came from behind and ran into her! I'm so sorry!"
I tended to my daughter whose feelings were hurt far more than her head, although she did have a half-dollar sized scab on her forehead. Poor baby. I tended to her the rest of the night. I made her a comfy little nest on the couch, made her a fun dinner and put on a movie for her. I laid on the couch with her and she was soon asleep. I couldnt help but feel guilty, although it really wasnt as bad as it was in my head.
She recovered the next day so I decided to take her back to the park for some playground time. We went to the swings but they were full with other kids and their parents pushing them. We stood next to the swings waiting our turn. I started chatting with one of the parents as they pushed their linebacker sized 5 year old boy back and forth. Well, my daughter saw something she wanted to explore so she simply started walking through the swinging swings when, all of a sudden, the mini-linebacker swooped down on the swing and nailed her. Sonofabitch!
My daughter must've been tossed about five feet. I picked her up and calmed her down, wiped her tears, and said, "Let's get out of here." "Okay, daddy, lets go home now." Yes dear, lets go.
Well, as we walked out of the sandbox and onto the grass, my daughter didnt notice the baseball lying in the grass. As expected, she stepped on it and her feet flew out from under her and she landed right square on her back. Whoomp!
As expected, she started crying again. Hell, based on that fall, I might have shed a tear or two as well. Fuck this, lets get the hell out of here.
I looked in the mirror on our drive home and she looked spent. Sheer exhaustion was spread across her face. Her lifeless body bounced in unison with the car. I'd turn left and her body would flop to the right, I'd turn right and her body would flop to the left. She was done.
I carried her up the steps and laid her down on the couch. I sat with her and apologized for the past couple of days.
"Dang, baby girl, you've had a rough couple of days."
"Uh-huh," she barely said.
"I'm really sorry about all your falls and scuffs."
"Its okay, daddy," she tried to reassure me.
"I mean, seems like everytime you leave the house you get beat up."
"Yeah, I got beat up."
"Sorry about that honey."
"It's okay, daddy."
I felt so bad for her, but with school starting the next day, I was hopeful her hardships would be replaced with fun and excitement of starting Kindergarten. New friends, nice teachers, recess....I knew she would recover just fine.
So here we are! First day of school! We got up early, got her dressed, fixed her hair (we usually went with two ponytails, but I added the flair of a zig-zagged part down the middle), put her in the car and off we went!
We pull up to the school and took the obligatory first-day-of-school picture and walked her into the cafeteria where all the students congregated before school started. We find her teacher and I introduce my daughter to her.
"Well, hello! I like your hair," said the teacher.
"Thank you, my daddy did it," said my daughter.
"Well it looks lovely! What happened to your forehead," referring to the giant scab that served as a reminder of the rough couple days she had.
"My daddy beat me up!" replied my daughter.
SCREEEEECH!
The teacher looks up at me.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait, I can explain!"
The teacher has a look of concern, which I really dont blame her. I mean, if a kid said that to me I would be concerned as fuck!
"You see, she got...what happened...you see, a dog ran her over, then she fell, the swing, uh....I didnt really beat her up."
"Okay...sweetie, why dont you go sit with the other kids? You can pick her up here at the end of the day, Mr. (me)."
"Okay, thank you."
I kissed my daughter goodbye, but in my mind, I was sure Child Protective Services would be on hand when I returned to pick her up.
I stressed all damn day. I ran through all of the explanations I would tell the teacher, but all of them sounded like bullshit. Its kinda like someone accusing you of having a drinking problem. Doesnt matter what you say, it all sounds like bullshit. Ugh.
I finally return to pick her up, expecting the worst. Surprisingly, there was no issue. The teacher greeted me, said my daughter explained what happened and they were no longer concerned. She must've seen the wave of relief spread across my face because she started laughing at me.
I get her into the car and ask about her day. She tells me she has a new friend, cant remember what she learned, and can we have McDonalds for dinner. Sure, baby girl. Anything you want.
A few minutes pass when I ask her, "Hey, why did you tell the teacher I beat you up?"
Little imp starts laughing and says, "Because thats what YOU said, daddy!"
"Yeah, but I didnt mean it that way!"
She just points and starts laughing.
That little girl played my ass. I couldnt be mad at her as she got me good. In fact, you might say I was a little proud of her. It was at that moment that I knew, yep, this is MY kid!
Kids, I tell ya.
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