I laid there and read the newspaper, my phone’s wi-fi hot-spot just strong enough to get my iPad online. I got up shortly thereafter to go to the bathroom, already being up nearly every hour, and tried not to jostle my daughter. The church community center was still dark and mostly quiet. An adult snored lightly and another child coughed.
When I returned, I knew I wasn’t getting back in the bed. My poor daughter looked up at me, propped herself precariously up by her elbow, now sunken on her side of the air mattress.
“Dad, what time is it?” she whispered.
“It’s 6, Beatrice. You don’t’ have to get up yet.”
“Okay, but I’m awake now.”
“We can’t do much until more people wake up,” I said.
She grabbed a book from her backpack and stood up. “I’m going to go read in the bathroom then.”
“Okay, sounds good.”
I went to the tables in the center of the room and brought a chair back to where we were camped out. As I sat and answered work emails, I was struck on how much our oldest daughter had grown up. How already independent and resilient she’d become. Still pre-tween and only 10, my wife and I both had witnessed how her mind, body and spirit were changing nearly every day. We used to worry about how she’d adapt socially in grade school, especially having learning and processing delays years earlier, but that wasn’t a problem, at least not now. Sleep, however, is a current problem with her developing mind whirling with more angst than we'd like, so we worried about this trip. So much like her dad back then. Mercy me.
My wife Amy wanted one of us to go if Beatrice was going to go on this school trip – and that would be me. Just like the Girl Scout overnight at the Boardwalk, I volunteered to sacrifice my sleep while having some fun. Amy’s all about fun, but not sacrificing sleep when she doesn't have to.
So here I was again, now with Beatrice’s 4th grade class, her teacher and a great group of parent-volunteer chaperones. We traveled via chartered bus to Columbia State Historic Park just outside of Sonora California in the Sierra foothills. It’s an annual trip for her school's fourth graders, which we pay extra for, but it's definitely worth it. This was gold rush country in the 1850’s, the early days of statehood for California. We went to school in 1850 (completely intimidated by the docent immersing us in that time), learned some local gold rush history from a park ranger, panned for some gold and gems, and then each child had $6 burning a hole in their pocket to spend on candy and souvenirs.
But earlier when I inflated my air mattress for the night ahead, I had pushed it too close to a decorative tree full of barren branches and strung with white Christmas lights. One particular low branch was broken off to a sharp point and as I pushed the mattress right into it puncturing it.
I couldn’t believe it. What the hell was I thinking? Ugh. I had no other bedding other than a pillow and some sheets and the hard floor below. Beatrice had planned to sleep on the floor anyway in her sleeping bag to be near her best friend.
No one had any tape, but one of the parents had band-aids, and so I plugged the hole temporarily with that. Of course, that wasn’t going to hold. The class teacher told me there was a CVS near the pizza place we were going to eat at that night, so I could get some duct tape. Another parent recommended Gorilla Tape, which I had never heard of. I bought some at the CVS store and used it to patch up the hole when we got back to the church where we stayed.
The air mattress seemed to be holding. Phew. That was good. Soon after it was lights out and all the kinds and parents were going to bed, Beatrice told me the floor was too hard and so I told her to share the bed with me.
Two hours later, the bed began to sag under us. It was too quiet to pump it up again; I'd wake everyone up. The more it deflated the more I stressed out I got and the more Bea and I sagged together in the middle. Every time I'd get up to go to the bathroom, the weight displacement caused her to sink and roll over to her side even more.
"Dad!" she whispered frantically, reaching out for me to grab her as if she was sliding into a bottomless pool. God, I felt so bad.
We were up every single hour no matter what. And each hour that slipped away found us sinking deeper into the air mattress. It was painfully comical, but we survived. The next day we visited nearby Mercer Caverns, which was just as fun as day one.
And through it all Beatrice was pretty well-adjusted, especially with Dad there, and even with a sinking bed. These things can be a big deal when you're 10 and all your friends and classmates are there. I was so proud of her and yet kept my distance and observed, letting her do her thing, unless she needed something, and then I was right there.
What I noticed was that she had a blast. She volunteered to show how to pan for gold. She played and spent her $6. She learned to play chess with her best friend. She also liked to spend alone time -- either reading, drawing, running around and kicking around the soccer ball -- and I respected that about her. Again, so much like her dad at that age. Except that, she's more confident and vocal at 10 than I ever was at 20.
But growing up isn't always kicks and giggles or First World problems, and there will be annoying leaks throughout our lives, that in the end, no amount of Gorilla Tape will hold. That's why we have to learn how to roll with it all. Or in this case, sink and roll off it.
No comments:
Post a Comment