Time Is The Best Gift

The day after Christmas, 2018

The gifts have been exchanged. The pretty paper has been ripped apart then discarded into a pile on the floor. Things that were needed were received. Things that were wanted were probably obtained. For so many of us, it is a time when we can realize, if we try, how blessed we truly are, at least materially.

Prior to the holiday, Jennifer asked me what I really wanted for Christmas. There was really nothing I desperately needed or wanted so I provided one of those answers we all wish could be fulfilled. “Time. What I really would like is more time.” Admittedly, when I gave that answer it came from my selfish side. I thought how I would like that time to just sit and chill out, maybe watch a football game from start to finish or get swallowed up in the endless rabbit-hole of watching old music videos on YouTube.

Time, though, is what it is. It is always present but since it always moves, it is elusive. It can be frittered away as if it were nothing of value by binging hour after hour of a TV show with little redeeming value or by glaring at a tiny screen an arm's length away in the palm of a hand while deep down knowing that time holds worth that cannot be measured. While I wished for more time, I knew I wouldn't get it as a gift sitting wrapped under our tree. Somehow though, time, as a gift, is one thing I received in another form during this season of giving and receiving.

The holiday season finds us on a very different schedule than most of the rest of the year. Hannah’s school will be closed for several days past the New Year. I return to work in a week then Jennifer will take some time off from her work to spend some time with Hannah. When all that falls back into place, the routine we have carved into our life as a family will return, two parents working outside the home and a student charging her way through first grade.

Between now and then we are left with some time to fill that we normally don’t have. A day earlier, we opened presents becoming overwhelmed with all the new stuff now at our fingertips. Now, with time to spend, we delve into these gifts.

One of our day-to-day routines that has come into place is how after Jennifer cooks our supper, we then sit together to eat the meal. Afterward, it is my responsibility to clean the dishes and kitchen. No, it is not how I would like to spend a half hour or so of my day each day, but I understand this is how it works and I am okay with that.

This part of my routine is important to know because one of my gifts this year was a case full of plastic containers and lids. That said, know I do not enjoy scrubbing on a frying pan. I blanche at the whiff of leftover ketchup on a plate as I scrape it into the no-longer-edible food pile. I hold my temper when I think I have finished for the evening but then locate a big spoon or small plate that somehow hid when I was washing all the other items. None of those though compare with attempting to store the leftovers from supper into some container when I can find a container but cannot locate a matching lid. Simply said, it drives me bananas.

So, this Christmas, as I unwrapped my gifts, Jennifer carefully watched for me to tear into one particular package. I let out a hearty laugh and maybe even gave a fist pump when this gift, one she had spotted weeks earlier, and a gift I almost asked for, that set of matching containers and lids, was revealed.

A day later, Hannah and I are home. While we play with some of her new toys and even a few older ones, I can’t help but think about some of the things I know need to be done. One of those things was to clean out the container cabinet then wash and dry the new containers and lids for their new home.

I looked at the case full of containers and lids. I sized up the approximate time it would take for me to accomplish this task. I stopped though to ask Hannah if she would like to help me. Without hesitation and with plenty of enthusiasm, she said she would help. And, so for the next hour and a half, Hannah and I filled up one side of the sink with soap and water. We used the other sink to wash off the soap before handing it off to be towel dried.

We got wet. We splashed water all over the sink and even to the floor. We probably took more time to complete this task together than if I had decided to do it on my own. Nonetheless, we washed then dried each container and each lid. We then stored away our work in the ready-made case before placing it into the cabinet.

I admit I am a bit excited how I will soon use these gifts to make my daily kitchen clean-up a bit easier. That realization isn't the thing that will remain with me though. What I will recall is the time Hannah and I spent laughing and joking and sharing time with each other. It is also in some way, an understanding that holiday gifts or really any other gifts that we give and receive to celebrate important times are just material things that we desire or that we believe can make life easier. Such things just seem to be substitutes for the things we really want or need that we can’t purchase online or from a business, things like someone's time, happiness from shared laughter and memories made that will last beyond a limited sixty-day guarantee.

While I would love more time to do things I enjoy, it is nice yet sobering, to be reminded from time-to-time, that the value of time is often more important when invested on others rather than self. Even then, it seems to find it's way back as a gift all it's own.

The Dance I Would Not Miss

We were at our supper table one night recently. Hannah looked at me and asked, “Daddy, can we go to the Daddy-Daughter Dance?” I was aware of the upcoming dance but was unsure if it was something Hannah would want to attend. Frankly, any kind of dance is not my cup of tea, so briefly I wondered, maybe even prayed, that we had already made plans for that night. I knew better though, and, with her question, I realized it’s importance to her, so I, told her I would be glad to go.

With just a few weeks to pass before the dance, preparations began almost immediately. Hannah had to buy a dress. I had to make sure I had decent enough clothes to accompany my daughter to this special event. During the time before the dance, I would joke with Hannah about my inability to dance and how it might embarrass her. She did not seem concerned.

Finally, the big day came. It rained much of the day which concerned me that we might get wet later. Still, as the afternoon crept along, we began to get everything together while outside the rain slacked. I trimmed my mustache and beard. I chose a tie then slipped into a jacket. Hannah got into her red dress trimmed in white then allowed her Mom to style her hair. Soon enough, we were ready to go. Mom snapped a few pictures then off we went.

Hannah was rather quiet on the ride. Once we were there and in line for photos, she remained quiet. She looked around at the other Dads and daughters. It seemed to me she was trying to get a handle on what was happening and how she could fit in to it all. More than a bit anxious at any social event, I am sure I was doing some of the same.

After we had our photo made, we stepped into the room pulsating with music. There, we found other Dads and daughters. Some stood in line for food and drinks. Some stood around the edges watching everything from a distance. Some bravely took the dance floor. Still quiet, Hannah just watched. I asked her a time or two if she wanted to venture out onto the dance floor. She shook her head no. I would wait then ask again. For a moment we took a few steps of the electric slide but found we were limited to what we could do since we were so close to the wall. After a few minutes, I, a lifelong and proud wallflower, realized we just might spend the next couple of hours in the same spot, just on the fringes of all the activity.

Noticing the line to the food and drinks had thinned, I asked Hannah if she wanted to get something to eat and drink, so we did. I placed a small sandwich and cookie on my plate, while Hannah placed two small cupcakes and a cookie on her plate. We found a place to sit getting away from the music momentarily.

Hannah ate one cupcake, handed the other one to me then determined she didn’t like the cookie she chose. We ventured to the other end of the room. Once there, the deejay played a current song I did not know but which Hannah did since it finally got her dancing. Realizing a moment was happening, I began recording this with my phone. Then some of Hannah’s friends found her and they all took off onto the dance floor leaving me behind.

I would try to follow them with my eyes through the crowd. Now and then, they would zip past me. I would change my location a time or two, always standing off to the side, always with other Dads watching in amusement and amazement at the chaos. There were plenty of songs I didn’t recognize but “Isn’t She Lovely,” “Sweet Caroline” and “Brown-Eyed Girl” made me perk up a bit. I continued to watch for her. I would see her as part of a conga line a few times. Moments later, she passed by me riding on the back of one of her friends. I could only smile knowing she was having a good time. Once or twice, she would run up to me. Then we might take a few dance steps to a song before she would run off to be with her friends.

In time, I noticed the crowd dwindling. I located Hannah who confirmed she was ready to go home. On our way out the door, we stopped to take a balloon. We also snapped a picture before walking to our car. At the car, I asked her if she were hungry, she said she was and that she really wanted a Happy Meal from McDonalds. There we were, all dressed up and Ronald McDonald would be the nightcap. It was her night, so I told her we could do that.

During the drive home, Hannah relived some of the evening. She would tell me she had a fun night. That was all I needed to hear to judge the night a success. When we got home, she provided details of the night to her Mom.

At some point as I reflected on the night, I chuckled to myself thinking how little dancing I had had to do on this night. I thought how in years to come, that might change. She might want to dance with me when “My Girl” or “Cinderella” plays. And, even though I can’t dance a lick and probably won’t learn to dance before that moment, I know without reservation, for her when that moment comes, I will try. That is what Dads do for their daughters, and, that is what daughters expect, and should expect, from their Dads.

Until then, I am thankful to God for that precious little blonde girl and the journey her, her mom and me are on together. It is the dance I would not miss for anything.