March Pajama Day

I’m writing this one for Ian, mostly.

Your old man is far from perfect, but this story is important because I’m not sure you’ll remember it in the big scheme of things — and I did something right, for a change. As elementary school nears, and things like pajama days become an event of the past, this is all the more important. I’m giving this to you so that you can balance it against some of my less finer points, I guess. We’re all still learning, this family.

You and your sister rode away in the back of Mommy’s car, headed for daycare in the wee hours of the morning. I slipped back inside after the usual “walk the car down the driveway” ritual and went to grab the milk out of the fridge when I saw the calendar of events for the day: “Pajama day.” But I knew you hadn’t left the house in pajamas. I ran upstairs, picked out a couple PJ options, and hopped in my car. I wasn’t trying to be dramatic, but on the way to daycare I admit to hoping I would look like a bit of a hero.

Again, I wasn’t trying, but somehow the timing was perfect. Mommy had just knelt to your side, your lip pouted out and your eyes began to brim with tears as you stood, surrounded by a class full of pajama’d children. But then Mommy looked up and smiled big as I walked in and presented jammies to you. Honestly, you weren’t as thankful as I thought you’d be — it turned out there was a new teacher there and part of your tears were from the unfamiliarity… but you were happy to see me, and it felt great to do something good.

I’ve had to yell at you a lot lately, because you don’t know how to sit still in a chair at dinner, or can’t seem to stop eating your own shirt. But I love you. I always love you and if I could somehow present you with the equivalent of your forgotten pajamas every day, wild dragons could not stop me from doing so. It is just that sometimes life has a way of not giving a dad the calendar that tells him what his son needs today. We’re all still learning, kiddo.