Dad Entry #133

Megan has jewelry in her ears now. She's very deliberate and meticulous about cleaning her new piercings. We helped her the first few days but now she does it on her own. The cleaning steps, as I remember them, are as follows: 1) The disinfectant solution is applied to the lobe very liberally, to the point of dripping all over the place, or accusations of carelessness, incompetence, and laziness may surface and be directed at the helper. A cotton pad is the best instrument for application. Pray to God you have cotton balls laying around if the pads are used up. 2) Once wetted with solution, each earring shall be twisted three times in each ear, "In both directions, Dad! No, you didn't spin it the other way yet!" 3) The twisting is followed by three pushes forward, then three pushes backward. This is difficult since Megan's earlobes are tiny and her earrings, minuscule. Big ones can wait. 4) Perhaps most importantly, cleanings shall be undertaken three times a day. Without exception! .... Ahh, I shouldn't poke fun, since we're actually very happy Megan's being so responsible. No skipped cleanings, no shortcuts. Good girl. I must add, however, the earrings do nothing to enhance her beauty; she's unalterably perfect already, of course.

Megan, in a moment of irrepressible pride after her trip to Claire's, said, "Michael, you should get your ears pierced." Michael said, "No, I don't want to." Megan said, "But people would think you're cool." Michael said, even more flatly this time, "I don't want my ears pierced." I decided to chime in, "Yeah, Mego, most boys don't wear earrings." Megan said, "Justin Beiber does." I changed the subject.

Megan asks questions like, "Daddy, will I get presents on Michael's birthday?"

The kids lost their great-grandfather, Papa Byard. They knew him well. I wondered how they'd react at his services. They didn't cry. I did, but that didn't seem to bother them either. Emotion, and sadness, are part of life. They know this; they're children. I hope they never forget, or try to repress it. They were mostly happy that Papa Byard would see Belle in heaven. Beller-Feller! Belle was the golden retriever my parents had until last year. I told the kids that Papa would see other dogs he knew, also. And he'd get to see his mother again (who he lost when he was a boy), and his father, and his daughter (Aunt Denise), and all his family and friends and loved ones who went before him. I think the kids understood. Papa Mike eulogized his dad. It was awesome. Funny, touching, a great tribute. I was on the hairy edge already when it occurred to me, watching my father speaking and recollecting and pausing, with his father laying behind him, that it would be Michael standing there someday. And me in the casket. As I said before, it's part of life, and life is good. But these thoughts were not very stabilizing; I said goodbye to composure for a few minutes.