A divorced dad, I would meet my ex midway between residences to exchange our little ones—two girls.  It was an hour to and from the rendezvous point and I would frequently tell stories to make the trip pass.  The tales told were of magic places with creatures of all sorts; leprechauns, fairies, pixies, ghosts, and such.  I never wanted my children to endure this situation, but we made the best of it and still talk of the fantasies told during the many miles traveled.

Twenty months stands between my eldest and youngest and they generally played well together.  They setup stores for shopping, board games for moving colorful pieces, and kitchens for cooking make believe meals.  Barbie movies were a popular genre as were films with animals or those with magical themes.  Before the day of phone video there were Flip cameras.  My girls played roles of director and actor, and would present productions with great pride.

When their age, we played outside and mom and dad would yell when time for dinner, but when my children were outside our dwelling I checked on them every five minutes.  I don’t know if the world is so different or if the dangers of this day now garner more attention.

I endeavored to find activities we could enjoy together.  The park was popular, not just for swing and slide, but for creek, field, and trail.  The girls dropped leaves from bridge and watched as they were carried by current over rock and branch.  They named these “leaf races” and watched intently to see who’s crossed finish line first.  Catch, followed by gentle release of minnows snagged in their little nets brought smiles.  They built twig structures so elves or other such beings had quarter.  They skipped and imitated horse’s gallop.  At swimming pool they morphed into mermaids or hair dressers who sat on my shoulders as they sculptured my wet mane.

On many occasions we were mall bound.  Not surprisingly, they liked toy stores, book stores, and making selections at food court.  There was one trip that didn’t go as planned, and to this day I find it difficult to relay, but I do so none-the-less to illustrate how circumstances can conspire.  We were walking into Sears to look at clothing when my eldest became upset, over what I can’t recall, and she crawled under a coat rack.  As I attempted to restore order, my youngest ran off.  When I looked up and couldn’t locate her, my heart, my gut, my head all went tilt.  I was fighting a panic doing its best to overwhelm as I called her name—first softly, then steadily increasing in volume until I was shouting her name.  We weren’t far from store’s entrance and I ran to look down corridor and saw nothing.  Patrons close to me seemed to sense my fear, but said nothing, as if frozen.  As I struggled to chart my next move—heart pounding—she strolled up with a Blue’s Clues trinket she fancied.  I scooped her up as I fought back tear forming in my eye’s corner.  When all had calmed down, and we were back in the relative safety of vehicle, I talked to them both to emphasize the seriousness of what went down.

When time for bed, once dry from bath and clothed in pajamas, I read to them as thousands of parents do.  They had their favorites which I was pleased to voice again and again, but on that night the same simple loving story meant more than it ever had or would.

I no longer hear the pitter-patter of feet, or sweet little voices asking what’s for breakfast as they now tackle college and career.  I am immensely proud of all they’ve accomplished, and love them with every fiber, but on occasion I close eyes to see if I can still hear them call to beg hand in tying shoes.