In the same week that the kindergarteners hosted Queen for a Day, they also hosted Popcorn with Pops.
(Which, Tucker was disappointed to learn, did not mean the students would drink ‘pop’ as their beverage of choice. It was popcorn and water or lemonade. Sort of a low budget event. And low sugar.)
Naturally, it was the counterpart to the Mother’s Day event: the day to honor dads.
Kudos to the kindergarten teachers for working a summer holiday into their school year calendar.
And Kudos to my dad for attending, for being the Pops that Tucker could honor.
And more Kudos to my dad – and all the other dads and grandpas – for being good sports when it came time to play Duck, Duck, Goose on soggy grass, and then to race the young, spry kindergarteners to the tree and back.
(I can’t really estimate how far away the tree was, but neither Tuck nor Dad could really manage to help me understand how much yardage they truly covered. They tried. By their stories, it sounds like they ran about 300 yards and back.)
The children made a Father’s Day book, and Tuck presented it to my dad.
“My dad is as handsome as a knight.”
“My dad is as cool as a Hot Wheel.”
“My dad is great at driving.”
“I love it when my dad plays football with me.”
“My dad is as funny as a dog.”
“I like to play tag with my dad.”
“My dad is perfect as a man.”
Each page included a crayon illustration, complete with a short stick figure and a tall one. The tall one had red hair, very intentionally colored with red crayon.
I asked Tuck to share his book with me, and he did so with great pride and delight.
I pointed to the tall stick figure. “Who is that?”
He paused, deeming the question unnecessary. “It’s my dad.”
“Really? You drew a picture of Daddy? All these sentences are about Daddy?”
Tuck looked at me as if to ask, ‘What is the disconnect here?’ “Yes, Mommy. See? All the sentences start with ‘My Dad.'”
Yes. Of course they do.
Why had I thought he would draw pictures of my dad, since Poppa was the stand-in guest at the party?
He humbled me with his memories, his accuracy, his gift. How shameful of me not to imagine he too carries these things in his heart.