Monday With Rachel

I went to Rachel's school today to help her paint a Hanukkiah (that's also known as a menorah.)

I was definitely outside my comfort zone. After all, it's my wife who is the art teacher. I don't consider myself particularly close to gifted in art. It's verbally where I stand out. Knowing this, my wife had flipped over minature pots on a long piece of wood, hot glued them and placed metal nuts on top of them to keep the candles in place. All I had to do was paint.

She then put the Hanukkiah in a plastic box, supplied two paintbrushes and two containers of glitter paint and sent me on my way. The kids were not back from lunch when I entered Rachel's classroom. When she entered, she saw me, her face broke into a wide grin and she jumped up and down excitedly exclaiming, "Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy" repeatedly.

I was equally happy and after lifting her up to get her sneakers rearranged so her left shoe was again on her left foot and her right shoe on her right, we settled in to the project at hand.

Rachel described the design she envisioned and shared the duties with me until she saw another child was using Legos in their design. At that point, I was abandoned, a latchkey parent. I did the best I could and I suppose it's okay. The important thing is that Rachel knows daddy isn't good at everything, but he wanted to spend time with her anyway.

45 minutes later, it was time for the students in Ms. McGraw's class to go to Hebrew. Rachel clung to me like there was no tomorrow...an arm, a leg. It was almost like I had to take a step and drag her with me. Then she asked her Hebrew teacher if I could stay. She said I could if I wanted. I really needed to get a few things done between then and the end of school 3 1/2 hours later, so I said, "That's okay."

Rachel said, "Well, at least see where I sit!" She sits on a round rug on the Hebrew letter tet.

I managed to wriggle free and stopped by the school library for a book fair. I bought Rachel four books and started walking to my car. The fire drill bells sounded. As I'm walking to my car, I hear, "Daddy!" in a familiar voice. It's Rachel. "Daddy, the fire alarm went off while I was washing up in the bathroom.

I look down. Her right arm is covered with soap. "I didn't have time to wash it off," she tells me. She's holding on to me again. "Just a second," I say. "Let go; I'll come back." I retrieve a kleenex from the front seat and wipe her arm. "Thanks dad" she says.

The girl behind her asks. "Do you think this is a real fire?" "Rachel's reply is something akin to "Duh, there would be fire trucks here!"

My mind envisions the teenaged years still ahead of us. It then quickly erases the thought for something more pleasant.

The drill over and the children heading back inside, once again having refused entreaties to accompany my daughter, I pause for a moment.

I need to remember this when less pleasant thoughts overwhelm me.

1) I have a daughter. She is here because her father and mother love each other. She's already told us she wants to be a mommy herself...and a hockey player (this week.)

2) She really, really loves me. Last week, she fell asleep holding my hand. That's better than any drug.

3) I really, really love her. She exasperates the stew out of me sometime, but I'm already proud of who she is. I admire her confidence, grudgingly salute her feistiness and marvel at her intelligence as she figures out new words, how to tell time and how to express herself.

4) That look. That smile on her face when she sees me. Her wanting to hold on for dear life. Her giggle when I tickle her. The look of pride when she figures out a new word. Seeing the world through her eyes. Celebrating the ups. Helping her through the downs.

5) The smile on my face when I see her. Wanting to hold on for dear life. Always thankful for the opportunity to be her dad.