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The Follies of Adulthood
How my daughter reminded me to be human again
“Papá?”
I could tell from the tiny tremors in her voice that my daughter had bad news. No wonder she’d waited until we’d crossed the street from her school and were climbing into the car to say anything.
“What is it?” I asked, hoping the timbre of my voice disguised the million-and-one worries racing through my mind.
She squinted, pressing back tears. “I got two folder marks this week.”
I took her backpack and unzipped it as she slumped into the backseat. Inside her yellow folder was an orange card stock calendar on which her third grade teacher had documented her transgressions. Tuesday’s offense? Laughing. Today’s? Playing.
I chuckled. Or maybe I guffawed, because my daughter stiffened with surprise.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
The implication was, of course, that my daughter had been laughing and playing when she should have been focusing on school. But the message’s delivery disheartened me. What was being impressed upon her young mind? That there are times when one must sit still and quietly pay attention, or that she must temper her fun, playful nature?
