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Workday
It was a case of bad planning. I had my heart set
on building that retaining wall I have been
envisioning for about two years now. Today, Sunday,
was to be the day. I awoke to find my partner, Sue,
getting ready for work. My face froze in panic.
"You're not working today, are you?" I pleaded.
"Of course I am," she informed me, tossing her
hair back and wrapping it up in a pony tail. "I'm
doing Debbie's shift. It's been on the family
calendar for weeks."
"But my wall...," I stammered. "Well, maybe you
can get a start on it," she offered on her way out
the door. "I gotta go. Good luck."
Her departure woke up my daughter, Molly. She
bounded into my bedroom with a big smile, ready for
a day of play. I had no child care or play dates
with Molly's friends set up. I collapsed on the
bed. My day was ruined before it began.
To my surprise, I was wrong. That shouldn't
surprise me. I watched every episode of "Father
Knows Best" as a kid. But in our house the motto is
more like, "Isn't Dad dumb!" I'm wrong a lot, and
today was no exception. I told Molly she had to
play by herself because I would be mixing concrete.
I felt terrible to hand her a day of boredom and
loneliness, and I knew she would protest. To my
astonishment, however, she said okay, and she then
played by herself for the next six hours. I built
the whole wall before her patience broke and she
marched down to where I was cleaning up, demanding,
"Are you finally done yet!" I wondered at this
unprecedented feat of hers. Is her cup so full from
the attention she has received in her first six
years that now she can sip from it all day if need
be? I was about to feel very proud, but quickly
doubted if I could ever count on such cooperation
to be repeated. "Then again," I began to plot, "If
I can work all weekend instead of having to play
with Molly anymore, I could build that bike shed,
rebuild the fence, and maybe even do something
about the drainage problem behind the house." It
did not take long for my imaginary list to get out
of control. Before I could write down any of my
plans, it was time to make dinner, then time to
read, and then bedtime. I fell asleep putting Molly
to bed, dreaming of that perforated ABS pipe I've
seen at the lumber yard that you can lay down in a
ditch to channel ground water away from your
foundation. Molly woke up grumpy. She did not want
to go to school. This worried me. "But you love
school," I reminded her. "Not today I don't," she
whined.
"Why not? Did something bad happen at school
last Friday?" "No," she pouted.
"What is it then?" I implored. "The weekend is
gone and I didn't get to play with you." Her eyes
were wet, but she didn't want me to see them. We
had actually played together Saturday morning, but
that wasn't the point. I scooped her up in my arms
and rolled onto the bed with her. Dad was wrong
again. Her cup is not as deep as I thought. And she
still needs Mom and Dad to fill it for her every
day. I thanked her for allowing me to build the
wall. And we made plans to ride bikes together that
afternoon.
Then we had breakfast and I dropped her off at
school. I watched her skip from the car to the
school door. She swung her foot out with each step
to shake her ankles. "That's how I ring my
bellbottoms," she had told me once. Then she
disappeared inside. I looked around the parking lot
to make sure no one could see me. Then I rested my
forehead on the steering wheel and cried.
© 2008, Tim
Hartnett
Other Father Issues,
Books
* * *
Your children need your presence more than your
presents. - Jesse Jackson
Tim
Hartnett, Ph.D. is a licensed Marriage and Family
Therapist in private practice in Santa Cruz, CA. He
specializes in Individual Counseling, Couples
Therapy, and Divorce Mediation. He can be reached
at 831.464.2922 or through his website:
www.TimHartnett.com
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