It was a day like any other day, until I decided it wasn’t

I was at work and struck by the hour: noon already? On a whim I begged off early, promising to make up the time later (a line borrowed from the procrastinator’s creed). This whim eventually brought me to my daughter’s school, just as her and her like were being released for the day. She wasn’t expecting me, and didn’t notice when I fell into step behind her, stride for untroubled stride. She was carrying a large paper bag: the end of the year, accumulated wealth from a well used second grader’s desk. Without comment or warning I plucked her burden from her grasp. She turned, perturbed, expecting to confront a bully. When she found me instead she looked a little worried, but that worried gaze quickly gave in to excited chatter when she learned I was there solely because I felt like it – because I wanted to see my kid.

Later that day, when the day had no right to be called “day” anymore, Beth was settling down for bed. We said our prayers, tucked in the covers, and said our good nights. As I was closing the door Beth asked me to wait. She waved me over and I sat at her side.

“Dad, today was my favorite day. I love you dad.”

If words can melt a heart, then mine’s a puddle.