~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I AM Your Dad!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This shopping trip was beginning as all my shopping trips begin. Mother's Day was hours away my only preparations were to ask my wife what she wanted the girls to get her. And as is the case at times like these, Caroline and I throw Katherine, (age 6) and Danielle, (age 4) into the car and head for the mall.
Upon arriving, the girls and I Left Caroline to wander the mall and headed to my favorite store---the Disney Store. When we go to the Disney Store, it is not unusual to spend an hour just looking around. We are big fans of Winnie the Pooh and could easily spend thousands on Pooh stuff. However, today's trip wasn't usual. After looking at shirts, dresses and bathrobes, we still had watches, books and knickknacks. The girls had to show me the stuffed animals, umbrellas and dresses which they wanted. Before I knew it, an hour had gone by and we still hadn't made any decisions.
We finally decided on a sweatshirt embroidered with Pooh and Piglet standing in a garden. The caption reads, "It’s the little things in life that mean the most." It's a reference to our two little "things" who make Mother's Day possible for Caroline and I. After deciding on the sweatshirt, we went to look at some small items the girls could also give. Key chains and figurines were all possibilities, but after several minutes, we still couldn't decide who would give what.
"Let's keep looking," I suggested and headed toward the Pooh collectibles.
Chants of, "We could get mom this!" followed me everywhere I went.
Being only four, Danielle's enthusiasm for shopping was fading and she asked me to carry her. As I was picking her up something caught my eye and I exclaimed, "We could get mom this!" It was the perfect gift--a clock.
Her enthusiastic response of "Yeah!" echoed by her sister's exclamation, "Yeah cool!" were highlighted by a celebratory dance. We finally agreed on the perfect gift for Mother's Day. The clock has a picture of Pooh lying on a hill side smelling a bouquet of flowers while clouds float in the sky. The caption reads, "It's a Grand Thing to be an Afternoon."
I immediately began coaching the girls about keeping quiet about the gift; something which is also very difficult for me when I find a great gift for someone. Excited about our shopping success and relieved we were through, we paid for the gifts and went to find Caroline.
One of my greatest joys is laughing with my girls. Nothing else makes me laugh the way they can. However, it is at these times of extreme joy and silliness that one of them usually makes the statement, "I have to go real badly." This was one of those times. Knowing there are only seconds to spare, I pick up Danielle and say to her sister, "Keep up Katie, we’re heading to the rest room."
On the way, Katie and I have our usual father/daughter discussion about her going into the boy’s bathroom . . . again.
“Why do I always have to go in the boy’s bathroom?” she asks.
"Because I can't go into the girl’s bath room," I respond in my usual sarcastic tone which ends our discussion. Finding an empty stall and squeezing in, we make it with no time to spare.
Turning to Katie I said, "While we’re here, you're going too."
Katie untied her jacket from her waist and handed it to me. Straightening it, I felt something unusual in her pocket. This is not a great surprise as rocks, play dough, wads of paper, and other items seem to find their way into Katie's pockets.
"Now what do you have in your pockets?" I asked in a surprised, exasperated tone while reaching into her pocked.
When I pulled out what I thought were the usual items, my heart stopped. My legs went weak and I fell against the stall door. Among the usual, not-so-surprising items were two Winnie the Pooh key chains. My jaw hanging somewhere between heaven and earth, I just stared at her – totally speechless. I couldn’t believe this was happening. It felt as though someone had reached into my chest and squeezed the life out of my heart.
"Katherine," I asked in shock, "Where did you get these?
She stared and said nothing.
“Did you take them from the store?" I continued.
Sheepishly she nodded her head.
I started to babble. "Do you know what you've done? You've stolen these?" I wailed. This hurts me more than. . . more than I can describe." My breathing was labored and my words seem to echo inside my spinning head.
I don't recall everything I said during the next part of my speech. My brain went blank and my mouth took over. Some of the words were words I'd heard from my parents. Others were words I wished I'd heard from my parents. My mind was vainly searching for words to describe the swirling emotions within me. Then, I heard my wife's voice echoing, "She is not going to understand. She is only six years old."
"Why did you take these?" I asked mindlessly, not really expecting an answer.
Staring like a puppy who had just messed on the rug, she responded, "I don’t know."
Pausing to collect my thoughts, I continued, "You have two options sweetie. You can return these to the store manager and apologize for taking them, or I will return them and tell the store manager that you took them. It will be better if you tell them than if l tell them."
We ran into Caroline along the way. "Take Danielle please," I said matter of factly. "Katie and I need to go back to the store."
Not waiting for a response, Katie, still firmly in my hand, and I returned to the store.
"May I speak with the Store Manager?" I asked a salesperson.
"I will get her for you," she responded and walked away.
Still holding Katie's hand, we walked slowly into the store while the sales person got the Store Manager.
"How may I help you?, asked the Store Manager.
"My daughter would like to tell you something." I responded. "Go ahead Katie; tell her what you need to say."
Hugging my leg very tightly, she refused to go. Kneeling down beside her, I put my arm around her and said, "I know it’s hard sweetie, but you have to do this."
"I'm scared," she whimpered.
"I know you're scared Katie. I'm scared too," I encouraged. "But you’re the one who has to tell her."
After what seemed an eternity, Katie, her head bowed, sheepishly walked to the Store Manager and pulled the items from her pocket. "I'm sorry," she mumbled as she handed the key chains to the Store Manager. The Store Manager took the items and before she could say a word, Katie was beside me.
I think the store manager was a little surprised by what was happening. "Thank you for returning these Katie," she said. "You are a brave little girl and I am proud of you for doing such a difficult thing."
Nudging Katie I asked, "Did you hear what she said? You need to look at her while she is talking to you."
As Katie raised her head slightly in recognition, the Store Manager reached over and gently touched her shoulder. Smiling, she repeated, "Thank you for being honest Katie."
Now in tears, Katie nodded to the Store Manager and buried herself in my shoulder. Picking her up, I thanked the Store Manager for her patience and understanding and she thanked me in return. As we walked out of the store, Katie sobbed in my arms.
"I am very proud of you Katie," I whispered. "I love you very much. I'm glad you told the truth and returned those things. Even though what you did hurt me very much, I never stopped loving you. I will always love you, no matter what."
Still sobbing, Katie hugged me as tightly as her little arms could. As shadows of people crowded the mall, we alone were in the presence of God. And I was experiencing love in a way words cannot describe.
"I can't breathe," I finally gasped. Katie chuckled through her tears as she loosened her grip. I buried my face in her hair and whispered, "I love you sweetie."
"I love you too dad," she responded.
From her birth, Katherine has frequently been a window through which I am able to see glimpses of God. And I have again experienced God in a new and awesome way – in the sharing of life as it flows from the very center of our being.
Today, I have learned the ‘joy’ of accountability – that it is a two way street. You see, in keeping my daughter accountable for her actions, she in turn kept me accountable for mine. For her, honesty and integrity were kept in balance. For me, it was my promise to always love her, no matter what.
The result of our mutual actions ushered us into the very presence of God, allowing us to participate in a group hug with the very One responsible for our existence. This is the blessing of accountability – to be held accountable by God in our actions and to hold God accountable in His love. In this, we become like God – giving love as God gives, and receiving love as God receives.
As we walked through the bustling mall, engulfed within the serene presence of God, I heard His still, small voice, “I Am your dad."
Peace & Be Well
Reed
| 
