Lesbian Dad

After school



Didn’t want pictures with her first grade teacher, or her principal, both of whom she loves so much that the thought of a photo op with them got her teary instantaneously. Really it was only partly for her and hugely for me. So I gave them my heartfelt thanks instead, knowing that we are more indebted to these to women than we will be able to say in any lingering moments on the schoolyard.  As she always had to do when I was the one to pick her up, my girlie tilted her body at a near 45-degree angle and pulled me by the wrist out of the schoolyard.

We had the obligatory, ritual post-end-of-school ice cream, then journeyed to a super-fun playground in nearby Emeryville. Taqueria fare for dinner (they give kids warm corn tortillas free, off the griddle). Home, we watched a movie together, cuddled on the couch (the unspeakably inane Curious George 2, testament to how much we love them).

For the second night in a row, the lil’ monkey — less and less lil’ by the day — wanted to pile pillows on the floor in my office and sleep there (her brother in our bed these nights). The change is so hard– she’s been testy all week, and she cried for minutes on end last night, damp in her towel in my lap beside the bath, insisting never to want any other teacher than Ms. Vines-Aquino ever again in her whole life, even through college. But there’s a part of her that also instinctively knows to move with it. I think bedding down solo in a new room these past two nights is part of that.

After reading HP (again), she was finally tired enough to go to sleep.  Her last words, before shutting her eyes and snuggling into her makeshift nest: “No more first grade ever, ever, ever, ever, ever again.” Then she put her fingertip to my forehead, and tapped it for emphasis: “This marks the beginning of summer, this moment right… here.”

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