Back to the drawing board...
We draw a lot…less these days than before, but Zoey’s getting older, and paper and pencils doesn’t always hold her attention like it used to. Her tastes are becoming more refined. She’s starting to like crafts. Looks like Dad needs to get crafty.
It shouldn’t be a desperate stretch. I got to go to camp until I was thirty-something years old…literally. I think I can muster up some honest to goodness Daddy/Daughter craftiness. Is it strange that Dad is doing that? Maybe to some, and then maybe not at all to others. It’s funny, I challenge a decent Dad out there to sit down and create something fun with his son/daughter and not grow a big grin. It’s cool, in a much different way than a Pearl Jam show is cool. It’s honest to goodness, healthy, home-cooked happy practice, and if you’re not doing it, well, you’re not as happy as you could be. A little glue, some scissors, and maybe some googly eyes or a bead or two can make even the sturdiest dude melt a little…or it should. Someday my daughter won’t give a $#!^ about sitting on the kitchen floor with her Dad and glueing tissue paper onto a cardboard circle to make the lamest looking Christmas wreath ever. Someday there’ll just be the wreath, and no daughter. Little girls grow up, as this one is remarkably illustrating.
Tonight we’re going to make one of those damn wreaths, or maybe six of them, I dunno. Maybe we’ll mail you one for your damn fridge…who knows? What we do know for sure is that I’ll be in the silent minority of fathers gluing crap onto cardboard with their daughters tonight. I’m okay with that…in fact, I’m oh-so very proud of it, boldly so. I’m not above revisiting the four year old inside of me. I might even venture to say that it’s an integral part of who I am. Kind of a definitive character trait, I guess…and I might even be bold enough to place it at the top of my resume, I think, which kind of makes me wonder what ingredients went into my making. More camp crafts than Mastercraft, that’s for sure.