Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Daddy, I'm Scared You and Mommy Were Fighting

The car door slammed, the engine roared to life, the gears shifted, the tires crunched over the sand I missed while blowing off the driveway, the thud happened as the tires bounced into the gutter, the brakes squealed softly, the gears shifted again, the motor revved, and Mommy drove off to meet a friend for an evening walk.

I sat in the living room, the warm spring breeze lightly brushing past the right side of my face.  It was a bit chilly for this time of year and I tucked my feet up under me.

I heard footsteps on the stairs behind the massive door to my left.  

They were deliberate footsteps - a bit slow - but, nonetheless, they were purposeful.  The door handle turned and through the door came Laura, my nine-year-old little girl.  She was weeping.

"Daddy, who drove awaaaay," she wailed.

"Mommy did," I said, while letting out a chuckle.

"I'm scared.  I'm scared you were fighting.  We're you fighting?"

I giggled at her.

"No, Laura, we weren't.  Mommy went off into the sunset to go out with a friend.  Now go back to bed.  Love you."

One thing is for certain: I now know that everything I do affects at least one of my children acutely.  What a powerful incentive to love her mother.

No comments:

Post a Comment