Where we live is considered a moderate or temperate climate. Summers are not too hot, winters are not too cold. I certainly wouldn’t classify things as “just right” especially with 8 months of grey, but considering some of the alternatives, Seattle isn’t bad. Of course, any difference in temperature that strays beyond the 60 to 75 degree range and we (generally speaking) start to complain, and when the thermostat drops below 50, well, anyway.
This isn’t about the weather. My daughter wanted to play hopscotch. After finishing her breakfast she pleaded and pleaded to go outside. Finally I acquiesced, allowing her to go outside, but she had to bundle up. It was cold, and no, not like Boston in January cold, but cold for Seattle. It was morning and the sun had really crested to the point where it would hit our back yard to warm things up. We were lucky the sun was making an appearance in the first place.
I watched her for a few minutes. Ciárán was downstairs getting into… well, I don’t know, August finishing his breakfast and getting dressed for the day, and Laura was putting Xavier down for nap. There was Déla, in the backyard, making what approximated a hopscotch grid.
It didn’t matter the squares were smaller than her feet or if the layout was wrong. Knowledge of the rules was apparently not a factor either. For her, it was about playing a game, outside.
15 minutes later, she comes in. I assumed she was done. No. “Can you come outside and play with me?” It’s cold, I have work to do, and I have no interest whatsoever in hopscotch. I made a half-hearted attempt to get out of it, but ultimately doing the right thing and participating in my child’s life won out.
So I find myself outside, in the cold, playing a game I neither give a shit about or understand. And the layout of her playing field is… well, she’s six and doesn’t really know how to play the game herself. Neither of our feet actually fit IN the squares, but if you step outside you lose. The distinction between losing your turn or losing the game is irrelevant.
After a while, and I really have no idea, I’m estimating about 10 minutes, I’m ready to go inside. I’ve got on my slip-on Vans and a sweatshirt, not having planned on being outside for any length of time. I’m cold, and have lost interest in what we are doing. Truthfully, I lost interest before I even went outside.
I arbitrarily say the next person to put their stone on the 2 wins. Of course I’m going to let her win. I could have easily have dropped my pebble on the 2 and gotten the whole affair over with, but I’m trying to be a good dad and let her win. I didn’t anticipate it would take another 5 minutes. Still, I perform my fatherly duties with a smile on my face and we continue to play until she “wins”.
We go inside, I begin to work, she goes off to find her brothers. A few hours later as I type all of this out, I begin to feel like a lousy father for not only being apathetic about the whole thing in the first place, but also attempting to hasten its cessation. Before I sat down to type this, I felt somewhat good about playing hopscotch with my daughter. Typing the story out, I realize how much of a jerk I can be as a parent. I owe her an apology.