Wish upon a star

11/30/2010

There are two things that I never intended to do when I started a blog.  First, I never wanted a week to pass between entries.  Second, I never wanted to be the dude who opens a new entry by apologizing for the length of time since the last one.  And yet, here we are...

Blake, who has been my most reliable source of material ever since he came along, is on very, very thin ice at the moment.  I may write more about that once we get through the other side of some things, but right now he is awfully close to making me play the Grinch and take away his Christmas.

Poor sweet Ava has been sick this week with croup, but in one of those examples of life providing unexpected joys, this led to one of the sweetest moments of fatherhood so far.  One of the symptoms of croup is a horrible, barking cough, and one of the treatments recommended is exposure to cold night air.  Seriously!  So when Ava woke in tears at around 11 last night, I decided to let her breathe some night air into those tiny lungs.  We laughed together as I rolled her inside of two blankets like a little burrito, with only her face showing.  Then I picked her up and carried her to the porch with me.

Stepping outside was something I really needed.  The temperature was in the 30s, and something about the cold, crisp, clean air really made my mind peaceful.  We sat there together, Ava in my arms, bundled tightly, and just enjoyed the silence for a few moments before she started asking me about the stars.  It's been over twenty years since I took astronomy merit badge, but somehow I remembered each of the stars and constellations she asked me about.  Each time I answered, she rewarded me with one of the most beautiful smiles I've ever seen.  I know that every daddy is biased, and believes that his daughter is the prettiest girl in the world, but each time she smiled and said my name my heart would skip a beat.  And instead of the prettiest girl laughing at you for being a nerd, she loves you for being her daddy, and thinks you're the smartest guy in the world.

Here's the part that I know will sound like I'm making it up just to give the story a good finish, but I promise this did happen.  As I looked up from her porcelain face for a moment to answer her question about a broadcast tower's lights, we both saw a shooting star arc across the sky.

"Make a wish, daddy!"

I've already got it.

8 comments:

one TIRED mom of one said...

You are such a STINKER!!! I am in tears over here reading this.

Misty said...

Adorable!

Roy B said...

Awesome!

Anonymous said...

Hey Danny, Carl here. My wife just pointed me to this entry of yours, and it's wonderful. So there's hope even for us nerds as dads eh? ;) I think one of the coolest things about reading this for me is it's been years since I've been in Lubbock, but your anecdote brought memories rushing back of that neighborhood and a real good wintery cold front.

Andrea G. said...

One of my first memories is of my mom swaddling me in blankets during a snowfall. Quiet, blissful peace.

Thou art blessed, as is my day for reading this!

janetmelton said...

My prayer is for Clay to have that moment of being the most important man in a little girl's life.
Blessings -

Ali said...

save this story for her forever, please. she is a very blessed little girl, indeed, to have a daddy who recognizes such beautiful moments.

Danny said...

Thanks, everybody. I will definitely be keeping this story to share with her someday.

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