“Where is my blankie at, anyway,” I asked nonchalantly.
“Geeze Dad, I’ve told you like a mi-illion times-s-s I think it's in my clo-o-set!!”
“Well, could you bring it back down with you next time, please? I was wondering what had happened to it.”
“Yes, Dad. Yes..s (insert over the top eye roll), O.M.G!”
She said before bolting for the stairs and ascending them with the enthusiasm of a freshman basketball player eager to impress her new coach. Moments later, she just as deftly slid back down the stairs and tossed the threadbare remnants of what had once been her pride and joy onto my lap.
Looking down, it began to sink in that she really didn’t want or need her baby blanket anymore, and that it was time for me to finally face the facts. Her growing indifference to something that it seemed only yesterday had required top-to-bottom searches of the house into the wee hours of the night, or mad dashes to the in-laws’ house to retrieve. Exercises in frustration that would usually find me struggling mightily to maintain my equanimity as my wife would lovingly counsel that she was “only baby honey” were now only memories.
As the last of our children, and a full eight years her nearest siblings’ junior, she had grown up inhabiting a very special place in our clan, being doted upon by the entire family. Everyone seeming especially keen on the unique joys and pleasures she brought into our lives. From first steps, too first words, and even that newborn smell (A mixture of baby oil, Desenex, Vaseline, sour milk, and... well, I guess if you dissect it too far it begins to lose some of its luster). But suffice to say that similar to a new cars smell. It is unique. And just like new cars, one day you just realize that it is gone.
Your car isn’t new anymore. And that was kind of what was happening here. Our baby wasn't a baby anymore. The little girl who had for the first three years of her life called me "Pa-Pee" but had then abruptly switched to “Da-bee” (aka Daddy) because that was what her friends called their fathers. So what if she had had difficulty pronouncing her "D’s? It was more grown-up. And now... now it was just d-a-d. And most nights she actually did want to sleep in her own room. I mean sure, there were the occasional weak moments when the weather turned especially troublesome, or the movie was a little scarier then she might admit. But these incidents were growing fewer and farther between.
Furthermore, we were strictly verboten from sharing any of this information as it might compromise the perception that she could be mere days away from her first shuttle launch or transatlantic crossing. And the Coup De Grace, the final straw, was that these adventures would be “blankie-less”! The die be cast. And while I stand in awe of this bright, articulate, loving, young lady that stands before me. I can’t help but reflect back to earlier times when we would lay in bed (supposedly napping), playfully tugging this very blanket away from each other as the other feigned sleep.
Momentous tugs-of-war that would eventually digress into all-out combat! Real “Rumbles in the Trundles” if you will, that any self-respecting World Wrestling Federation Superstar hunk or hunkess would be proud to pretend! Complete with signature moves like the Snooze & Snatch, or the almost always semi-lethal Tickle-Bug! But Blankie was all mine now.
I briefly contemplated just throwing the darn thing away but I just couldn’t do it. I somehow felt compelled to keep it. How ironic to realize that in some crazy twist of fate, I had won a tug of war I never really wanted to win. And that now I was, in fact, the one having trouble letting it go...or was it growing up? And I suppose that has been the fate of innumerable Blankies and Papi’s, to not so gracefully fade into the abyss of once-upons and yester-years. But then again what do I know I’m just a smuck.
“Where is my blankie at, anyways,” I asked nonchalantly.
“Geeze Dad, I’ve told you like a mi-illion times-s-s I think it's in my clo-o-set!!”
“Well could you bring it back down with you next time please? I was wondering what had happened to it.”
“Yes Dad. Yes..s (insert over the top eye roll), O.M.G!”
She said before bolting for the stairs, and ascending them with the enthusiasm of a freshman basketball player eager to impress her new coach. Moments later, she just as deftly slid back down the stairs, and tossed the threadbare remnants of what had once been her pride and joy onto my lap.
Looking down, it began to sink in that she really didn’t want or need her baby blanket anymore, and that it was time for me to finally face the facts. Her growing indifference to something that it seemed only yesterday had required top-to-bottom searches of the house into the wee hours of the night, or mad dashes to the in-laws’ house to retrieve. Exercises in frustration that would usually find me struggling mightily to maintain my equanimity as my wife would lovingly counsel that she was “only a baby honey” were now only memories.
As the last of our children, and a full eight years her nearest siblings’ junior, she had grown up inhabiting a very special place in our clan, being doted upon by the entire family. Everyone seeming especially keen to the unique joys and pleasures she brought into our lives. From first steps, too first words, and even that newborn smell (A mixture of baby oil, Desenex, Vaseline, sour milk, and... well, I guess if you dissect it too far it begins to lose some of its luster). But suffice to say that similar to a new cars smell, it is unique. And just like new cars, one day your just realize…that it is gone.
Your car isn’t new anymore. And that was kind of what was happening here. Our baby wasn't a baby anymore. The little girl who had for the first three years of her life called me "Pa-Pee" but had then abruptly switched to “Da-bee” (aka Daddy) because that was what her friends called their fathers. So what if she had had difficulty pronouncing her "D’s? It was more grown up. And now... now it was just d-a-d. And most nights she actually did want to sleep in her own room. I mean sure, there were the occasional weak moments when the weather turned especially troublesome, or the movie was a little scarier then she might admit. But these incidents were growing fewer and farther between.
Furthermore, we were strictly verboten from sharing any of this information as it might compromise the perception that she could be mere days away from her first shuttle launch, or transatlantic crossing. And the Coup De Grace, the final straw, was that these adventures would be “blankie-less”! The die be cast. And while I stand in awe of this bright, articulate, loving, young lady that stands before me. I can’t help but reflect back to earlier times when we would lay in bed (supposedly napping), playfully tugging this very blanket away from each other as the other feigned sleep.
Momentous tugs-of-wars that would eventually digress into all out combat! Real “Rumbles in the Trundles” if you will, that any self respecting World Wrestling Federation Superstar hunk or hunkess would be proud to pretend! Complete with signature moves like the Snooze & Snatch, or the almost always semi-lethal Tickle-Bug! But Blankie was all mine now.
I briefly contemplated just throwing the darn thing away but I just couldn’t do it. I somehow felt compelled to keep it. How ironic to realize that in some crazy twist of fate, I had won a tug of war I never really wanted to win. And that now I was in fact the one having trouble letting it go...or was it growing up? And I suppose that has been the fate of innumerable Blankies and Papi’s, to not so gracefully fade into the abyss of once-upons and yester-years. But then again what do I know I’m just a schmuck.
