April 1st, 2012. Sunday afternoon
“Daddy! Come down here!”
My daughter was calling me from down in the basement. I’ve noticed that the zombie apocalypse could be happening right before their eyes and my children wouldn’t bother to tell me. They would simply yell my name and tell me to come. Because of this glaring defect in their DNA, I have found myself needing to listen not to my children’s words as much as how they say them.
Throughout my years as a parent, gauging the inflection of my kids’ words can be the difference between risking a blown hamstring sprinting to their aid only to find out they wanted to know what you thought about the dress they put on an American Girl doll and having to put out a fire in the toaster.
So when I heard my oldest daughter calling for me, I took a half second to determine if this was something I needed to see for myself or if it could be solved by yelling to her from the sofa something along the lines of ‘…just figure it out’ or ‘…leave your sister alone’.
It was clear by the emphasis in the ‘a’ of Dad that, while the situation didn’t warrant me picking up the phone to dial 911, it did require me to go and see what my daughter was calling me for.
Read the rest of how my kids got me on April Fool’s Day at Dads Round Table, right HERE
*featured image courtesy of http://www.thepoptopshop.com