THE PEANUT GALLERY: Five Simple Words

"Because if that little kid likes me, how bad could I be?" -Wreck-It Ralph

Father's Day. I don't ask for much. I don't ask for anything, actually. Anything tangible, that is. I went for a run and took three naps during the course of the day. Peanut and I watched Wreck-It Ralph, my new favorite movie. She and My Director made me breakfast. We walked the dogs and Peanut rode her bike in the park. That's all I needed. Some time to myself and some time with my ladies.

The best part of Father's Day, to me, is the homemade gifts from Peanut. In previous years, she made portraits of us. This year, however, she channeled her inner blogger and wrote about me. Here's what she wrote:

I was floored. This is what my daughter thinks of me? These are the words she chose to describe me? I was stunned to the point of asking My Director, "Does she even know me?"

Nice: This, I guess, is relative. I am nice to her. I am nice to most. But I can be very not nice at times. I can only assume I have done an excellent job of hiding faking it around her.

Calm: Huh? Me? Maybe I outwardly project calm. But she's never seen me in the control room at work. Dropping eff bombs like I'm getting paid a nickel per shot. On the inside, I am a whirlpool inside a tornado.

Kind: See "Nice" above.

Funny: Ok. Now she gets me. For example, instead of calling it "Father's Day," she mimicked me and called it "Fahz-sha's Day," like in the Austin Powers movie Goldmember:


Ticklish: Guilty as charged. But I will have you know that I am currently undefeated in tickle fights in my household. You mess with the bull you get the horns.

As amused and touched as I was by Peanut's words, I still had a difficult time believing them. Even though My Director insisted Peanut chose them herself. No coaching or coaxing from her teacher. Then I read what My Director wrote in her card to me:

Your daughter will always allow you to see yourself in the best way possible. Believe in what she sees.

Someday I hope to be half the man my daughter thinks I am.

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The Sweet Smell of Success

"Smell is a potent wizard that transports you across thousands of miles and all the years you have lived." -Helen Keller

Not only is Peanut NOT happy to see me when I come home from a run, she cowers with fear at my mere presence. It used to be, I'd walk through the door and ask loudly, "Who wants sweaty kisses?" And Peanut, as I'd hoped, would respond with horror. It came to a point where all I had to say was,"Sweaties!?" And she would shriek with dread. Now she's been pre-conditioned, Pavlov-style, to wail and frantically stomp her legs on the couch the moment I've turned the doorknob. I never do kiss her. Nor do I have the intention. But I wouldn't be doing my job as a dad if I were not torturing her at every opportunity.

Me hugging Peanut after a 5K race, circa 2009.
She was horrified.

I'm sure it's not just the soggy, uncomfortable, tactile sensation of wet, sweaty skin on smooth, dry skin that Peanut wants to avoid at all costs. It's also the smell. Let's face it, I can work up quite a stink after logging a few miles with the old sneakers. And Peanut's told me so. "Daddy," she says. "You can't kiss me until you shower." Fair enough. But the threat of the sweaty kiss will always loom until the day I die.

Sometimes I catch a whiff of myself and can't believe it's even possible that a man who showers twice daily, manscapes regularly, and grooms and conditions properly could produce such a stench. Not so much a stench, but a musk. An odor. A lingering scent that must be wiped out with fresh water and Dove body wash as soon as I've inhaled some fluids and a banana.

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Mean Girls

"It's not about aptitude. It's the way you're viewed. So it's very shrewd to be very very popular. Like me." -From Wicked

Kids really do say the darndest things. Sometimes we'll have a conversation with Peanut and the words that come out of her mouth are so hilarious, whether intentional or unintentional, I bury my hands in my face to avoid embarrassing her. Just last night at dinner, for example, she was trying to explain to My Director what she thought the cause of My Director's "g.i." issues were. I sat in stunned disbelief, chewing my food while subconsciously holding my nose as Peanut described in great detail what causes certain types of bowel movements.

I don't want Peanut ending up in a garbage can.
Or walking away from someone who did.

Other times the conversations are more serious in nature. Like being nice to others, accepting those who are different, and feelings of exclusion and inclusion. These conversations revolve mostly around girls. Sometimes, mean girls.

Little boys can be obnoxious. For the most part, they're rough-housing, insensitive little jerks. I should know. I used to be a little boy. But I don't worry about Peanut being able to handle herself with the boys. They push and she pushes right back. She stands her ground. Defends herself. Peanut has established herself as the boss. The alpha female. It's the other girls I'm most worried about. Because while boys might engage in physical combat, girls are all about mind games. And being popular.

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