This morning again found me escorting the Princess into school to ensure the safe delivery of a trinket borrowed from a friend. I'm kind of like the armed courier of the first grade - you call me in when it absolutely has to get there. Anyway, while walking her in, something happened, and frankly, I'm still processing both how I allowed to it occur, and how I feel about it.
We're walking down the tiger hall towards class when a young man walks up. He says 'hi' to the Princess, she says 'hi' back. He announces that he know who I am because he's seen me bring her to class before. He begins a chicken impression, which makes her laugh. I'm just following along so I can catch his name, as learning names of the people she spends her time with is something I'm trying to work on.
Now then, at this point two things become apparent to me. The first is that my lovely daughter is no longer holding my hand like she was when we began down the hallway. The second, and more pernicious, observation, was that somehow I had been edged out, the two of them walking towards the wall until I was no longer even walking next to the Princess, but rather a pace behind. I may be overreacting, but I'm pretty sure at the age of six my daughter just reduced me to the role of forgotten chaperon for the first time.
Okay, maybe that's a bit of hyperbole. Obviously, they're not engaged or anything. It was an interesting moment though. Bringing daddy into school with her used to be kind of a big deal. Now I find myself taking a back seat to a curly-haired, clucking boy. I'm not entirely thrilled with it, but I suppose it's bound to happen.
On an unrelated note, today is international talk like a pirate day (which I do not really observe since we here at DLOG all talk like Guybrush Threepwood, mighty pirate, all the time anyway). As such Google has included pirate as a new language option, which is cool, but not as cool as my favorite Google language choice, Swedish Chef.
Bork bork bork. Truly, words to live by.
We're walking down the tiger hall towards class when a young man walks up. He says 'hi' to the Princess, she says 'hi' back. He announces that he know who I am because he's seen me bring her to class before. He begins a chicken impression, which makes her laugh. I'm just following along so I can catch his name, as learning names of the people she spends her time with is something I'm trying to work on.
Now then, at this point two things become apparent to me. The first is that my lovely daughter is no longer holding my hand like she was when we began down the hallway. The second, and more pernicious, observation, was that somehow I had been edged out, the two of them walking towards the wall until I was no longer even walking next to the Princess, but rather a pace behind. I may be overreacting, but I'm pretty sure at the age of six my daughter just reduced me to the role of forgotten chaperon for the first time.
Okay, maybe that's a bit of hyperbole. Obviously, they're not engaged or anything. It was an interesting moment though. Bringing daddy into school with her used to be kind of a big deal. Now I find myself taking a back seat to a curly-haired, clucking boy. I'm not entirely thrilled with it, but I suppose it's bound to happen.
On an unrelated note, today is international talk like a pirate day (which I do not really observe since we here at DLOG all talk like Guybrush Threepwood, mighty pirate, all the time anyway). As such Google has included pirate as a new language option, which is cool, but not as cool as my favorite Google language choice, Swedish Chef.
Bork bork bork. Truly, words to live by.
2 comments:
That's all well and good, but what was the significance of the chicken impression? Was he taking the piss out of you or what?
He was doing it to make her laugh, actually. That's one of the things that struck me about the exchange - it was the first grade equivalent of showing off for a girl.
Post a Comment