Isobel: "What did you just sign?"
Daddy: "A piece of paper that will help to stop Tim Horton's from building in town."
Isobel: "I thought you liked Tim Horton's?"
Daddy: "I do but if they build one where they want to, it will kick people out of their homes."
Isobel: "What? What do you mean?"
Daddy: "They want to build The Tim Horton's where people still live. If they are allowed to build, all those people will have to move and all those house will be knocked down."
Isobel: "Really?"
Daddy: "Really."
Isobel: "That's not very nice...and rude."
It was Canada Day here this past weekend and the tradition of the last couple of years has carried over to this year. I go and play a competition and then it's over to the in-laws for swimming and homemade burgers. Throw in a couple of beers and it is as near to a perfect day as you can get.
Both of the kids swim and pretty well. Not to say they couldn't both use proper lessons-they could but this past trip to Mexico was really the beginning of feeling like you could relax a little, safe in the knowledge that neither Izzy nor The Boy were in imminent danger of drowning if Mrs. Narrator or I weren't in the pool.
This was all based on the prerequisite that the children remained in the shallow end of the pool. The deep end however, was an altogether different beast. It was a far away place that could swallow you up and never let you go if you weren't careful. Well, that's at least the impression that we adults want to give kids. Isn't it odd that we want the kids to be confident swimmers so that they remain safe in the water and won't panic if they ever get into potentially dangerous situations and to do this, we almost always scare the shit out of them first. 'Don't you let your guard down for even a second or by god you'll drown like a rat. Now go have fun swimming.'
The Boy didn't have to be taught fear, he came with his own supply. To look at him now, romping and splashing and acting the soggy fool, you would never know that as little as two summers ago (maybe three- my memory ain't what it used to be) was still quite of the pool as a whole. When he was much younger, Mrs. Narrator had to carry him into the pool and couldn't be more than a few feet away from him at any given time. Funny how you think kids will be one way forever and almost overnight, they change entirely. Now you can't get him out of the pool. Deep or shallow end.
But Izzy was never like that, not that I can remember. She was a bonafide water baby almost from day one. We got her one of those floating activity centre things when she was a baby and she didn't car much for it. I loved it and was a little jealous. Legs dangling in the water, roof over your head, squeaky bits to distract you and a holder for your favourite beverage. What's not to love? Everything as far as Izzy was concerned. She preferred to be carried about in the water. Because you can't squirm about and try to break free from a floaty thing you are tethered to. Next came the combination water wing/life vest things that they have for toddlers. Also a gigantic waste of money for the the littlest mermaid. She tried it on and declared it painfully uncomfortable. In her defense, the only thing that keeps the vest from floating around your throat is a two inch wide strap that runs from the front of the vest to the back of it-between your legs. I shouldn't think it would be very comfortable so we didn't raise too much fuss when she wouldn't wear that one. It went on like that for a while, we'd buy things to keep her afloat and she wouldn't wear them. It was really Mexico that caused her to take the big plunge. I have mentioned earlier that once while we were in Mexico, Mrs. Narrator let Izzy go face first into the pool. It was so Mrs. Narrator could get out of standing at the bottom of the slide catching Izzy as she came down. BUT it awoke something in side Isobel. Something deep down, something atavistic that told her the pool was nothing to be afraid of. From that point on, she has been leaping into the pool without hesitation. Except the deep end. Never the deep end.
That all changed this past weekend. She wanted it, it was palpable. You could see the frustration on her face mixed with a little fear. The Boy was in the deep end and god damn it she wanted to be too. Luckily she is Opa's little girl and if she wants to go into the deep end, he is just the guy to get her there. He would move, inch by inch it seemed, further into the deep end and she would swim to him. He didn't make a big deal out of it until the last time she swam to him."Look where we are." Opa said.
"Where, the pool?" asked Izzy.
"We're in the deep end." said Opa. "Hey, you did it!"
"Daddy look," she shouted to me. "I'm in the deep end!"
"You are!" I said.
Within a half an hour of first swimming to Opa, she was swimming to the deep end virtually unaided. Fifteen minutes after that she was jumping off the diving board, wondering why she had ever been afraid of the Deep End...and you thought it was going to be a metaphor.
I am a father. I try to be a good father and to that end I want and try to do all I can to make my kids happy. I have threatened to take The Boy's ipod away for any number of things and never actually gone through with them. I have said to Isobel that if her room wasn't cleaned we would not be doing anything enjoyable, least of all going to the movies. Only to walk out of the house with her room still looking like a bomb went off in it. OK it was 'Brave' and I wanted to see it but you get my point. I am for the most part a cream puff and the kids know it.
But once in a while, the cream puff gets stale and crusty and the foot gets put down. Whatever the hell that means. Izzy wanted a fire and wanted to have s'mores. After the gigantic meal at the in-laws,the very thought of melting marshmallows and squashing them together with bits of chocolate made me positively nauseated.
"But I really wanted s'mores." Izzy said.
"And I'll make them for you but I'm not getting the stuff together." I replied. "You get the stuff and put it away when we're done and I'll make you as many as you want."
Now here is the brilliance of my child. She thought about it and there were no tears or anything like that. No, she first moved her chair away. Far away from the fire and refused to answer with anything except a shrug when I asked her what was the matter. Something that both kids know absolutely grinds my gears. Now here is where it gets good. I grumble a bit and even growl maybe but still hold my ground. No s'mores without her helping-she moves further away and remains silent. I snarl at her and the bottom lip starts to quiver.
"Fine." I say and walk into the house. I get together the ingredients for two s'mores and walk back out side. By which time Isobel has gone into the garage and gotten the chair back out that I told her to put away.
"If you're just going to pout, put your chair in the garage go in the house."
Now the chair is beside mine with her in it waiting for the first s'more.
I sit down, toast up the marshmallow; layer the chocolate on the graham cracker and squash the whole disgusting thing together. I hand it to her and give her a smile to let her know I'm not mad at her.
"Daddy, I think I'm too full to eat a s'more."
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