Dad Entry #65

One of my fondest memories of being Megan's dad will always be the scene in the truck stop bathroom. No, I'm not after cheap laughs here with bathroom jokes. I simply find it funny - and touching - when I have to bring my itty-bitty, cute-as-a-button little girl into the truck stop men's restroom. It still happens - we drove to Minnesota last weekend - since Megan can't 'hold it' for 7 hours and I can't go into the ladies room. (It'll be a while before I let Megan go anywhere, even the women's restroom, by herself.) The experience is a bit different these days, but early on, over a year ago, it was Megan and I in a stall, me holding her over the toilet, trying to make sure she didn't pee on her little undies or pants that were pulled down, or somehow on her shoes. Megan would gleefully try to look between her legs - in the beginning it was a novelty to go on the 'big potty' like a 'big girl' - which made it hard for me to hold her back far enough over the seat. I learned that too far forward meant she'd need a change of clothes. Now that Megan's a seasoned four-year-old, she goes into the stall alone, but only after I select the cleanest one, inspect it thoroughly, wipe it down, and advise her not to touch ANYTHING... as I've always done. And although it's very cute, it wouldn't be so memorable if not for the sudden clash, the striking incongruity, that registers with me the moment Megan speaks. That sweet little voice in the otherwise quiet truck stop bathroom. "Look Daddy, I did it," she might've said a year and a half ago, loud enough for everyone to hear. Of course I had to respond, also, "Yes you did! Good job, Baby!" And truthfully, early on, I was delighted she was out of diapers. Now I take it for granted. The truck drivers are always a bit grisly; nothing against truck drivers, but they are usually bearded, hatted, tired, and disheveled or shuffling around in a daze after countless hours on the road. And this bright, sweet voice kind of pierces the quiet fog hanging over the men's room, "Daddy, I can't reach the toilet paper." You are bonded forever with the beautiful, dainty creature you escort into this place.

Michael is there too, and that's cute also, we had moments like our first time using the urinal, but it never seemed so funny, or out-of-place, as it does with Megan. Soaping, rinsing and drying hands - and not obstructing the path of a driver who needs to go badly after 10 hours of driving - are also part of it with both kids. But Megan's loud, sweet voice there is quite a memory-maker for me.

It's an old cliche, but Megan is truly a 'good little helper'. She is eager to help cook, water the plants indoors, pot flowers and vetables outdoors, and so on. She wants to be a doctor or a nurse (some of you may recall her ongoing fascination with 'body books' about human anatomy). She told me that doctors wear gloves. I asked her what other things doctors wear (I was maybe looking for white coat, surgical mask, or stethoscope) but Megan said, "Nothing. They just wear gloves."

We play T-ball in the front yard. The kids were alternating, one would hit and the other would help field, then they'd switch. Finally Michael said, "We should let Daddy hit some too." Megan said, "Oh, no, Daddy will hit it all the way to Africa." I'm not sure why Africa was on her mind, but she's been to some of my softball games; she knows I can hit it pretty far I guess. Like out of the park and into the trees. A lot of guys in my league can do that. But it made me feel good when she said it! Of course, Megan 'giveth, then taketh away', because later that night she was brushing my hair - something she likes to do now - and she started giggling and said, "Daddy, you have a bald spot back here." Thank you, Darling. Did you notice all the grey, too?