"You want to go get some ice cream, buddy?"Kelly had suggested it, and it sounded really good to me too. It had been a hard day. I had already sunk into our oversized armchair and kicked off my shoes.
"No", he hollered from our darkened bedroom. He was lying on his back under our covers, watching "Fraggle Rock", his mouth muffled with a bottle.
Kelly and I shared a look of disbelief. This was a new one on us.
"What???" I called out. No response.
"You don't want to go take a ride, baby?" Kelly asked. We waited for a response. None came. If this was going to happen for us, we were going to have to sweeten the deal.
"Yeah, buddy, let's go take a ride and get ice cream." I guess I thought by recapping I might gain his attention.
"You go fine fy-twuck?"
I chuckled. This kid was a fire truck fanatic. We must have looked at every single picture of a fire truck on the entire web. But it was never enough. Every time the car seat was buckled, it was the same thing. I was expected to produce, on demand, a fire truck for his entertainment. The sick thing was that I undertook this challenge without complaint. Fatherhood makes you feel simultaneously like a superhero and a super-schmuck.
"Okay, buddy. I'll try to find you a fire truck."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!!! We go faw wyde!!!" The transition from nearly asleep to full speed was shocking. In less than three minutes I was starting the car.
"You fine fy-twuck, daddy?"
"I'll try, buddy." Exactly twelve nanoseconds pass.
"You fine fy-twuck, daddy?"
"Okay, pal. I'm sure gonna try". Brief pause. I take a deep, slightly stressed-out breath. I don't have time to exhale.
"You fine fy-twuck, daddy?"
"Uh-huh," I pray I'm not lying. Kelly can't take it any more, and bursts out laughing. I start to laugh, too. Nervously.
The three miles to Dairy Queen seemed like an eternity. I tried to calm myself with the knowledge that a dipped cone and a little bit of silence awaited me at the end of this trip, if only I could grit my teeth until I could get that little red spoon, laden with ice cream, in my little buddy's mouth.
Finally we were there. His was the first served - fine with me. Then came Kelly's Blizzard - a chocolate mint something. Finally, my dipped cone. It was glorious. Sweet silence. Soft serve. Paradise. The ringing sound of new silence still in our ears, driving up the dusky, tree-lined mountain to our neighborhood, all was well. I finished the last crumbly bits of cone and looked for something to wipe my sticky hands on.
"You fine fy-twuck, daddy?", a sticky ice cream voice asked from the back seat.
"Sure, pal. Sure I will."
