Father the Incompetent

The conversation was garbled.  I couldn’t tell if they were speaking softly or whether the distance drowned it out.  The voices had to travel from my daughter’s bedroom, underneath her closed door, down the stairs and into my room.   They weren’t sounds, but words.  I heard things like:  But someone has to get me up in the morning.  Who?  Can you call somebody to help him?

My wife is making her first trip back to the States with daughter number one, putting me in charge of my son and daughter number 2.  When daughter number 2 was told that her mother would not be here for a swim meet and other weekend events, she asked how it will all get done.  And when my wife (still wife number 1) told her “Daddy will be here to take care of it,” there was, for me, a troubling reaction.

The only way to describe it is frozen terror.  She acted as if my wife told her, “You’re on your own for the weekend. See ya Monday.”

Her reasons for my incompetence were many.  Her explanation for my lack of qualification, vast.  She just couldn’t wrap her little head around how I could get her up in the morning, get her fed and off to the meet (or gala as they call them here) on time.  Incomprehensible!

I wanted to go upstairs and explain to her that for years I’ve been waking myself, getting to school/work/gym, whatever the day calls for, with my pants on straight, my teeth brushed and my fly closed.

Her arguments were not made in jest.  There was real concern pouring from this scared child.

I sat there thinking it through.  What have I done to give her this impression? 

I know she has seen me get out of bed without my wife’s help.  She knows I drive a car (licensed by the State of Maryland).  She knows I hold down a job and eat without spilling my food.  Why, when it comes to helping her with tasks, that I’m sure I had a role in teaching her, she thinks my chances of success are so low.

We’ll see.  Tomorrow is the first big test.  I need to be home at four o’clock when she gets home from school.  This is my big chance, my moment to prove to my 11 year-old that I have the qualifications of a high school baby-sitter. This weekend I will do it, without a net.  I will be waking her up (on time), getting her to a swim meet (on time), getting her fed (with real food), filling her back pack with a swim suit.  Wish me luck.