On weeknights, I read aloud to the girls right before bed. Dinner is over, the table is cleared, schoolwork completed, teeth have been brushed. Read-aloud is a cozy time. Often I perch on the day-bed in our living room with one or two of the girls joining me. Other times I lay on the floor, where I was one eventful night this week. But, this story is not about the delight of a good book shared with the family.
Midway through the chapter for the evening, I felt a blow like someone had slugged me in the back. This has happened before. Usually just once by each daughter during their childhood. Apparently this night was Mercy's turn to find out how serious Dad was about his admonition to 'never jump on my back'. In a less than calm manner, I grabbed Mercy by the arms, set her up on the day bed, told her that was a stupid thing to do and sent her to bed. (Are you impressed with my parenting technique? Of course not.)
At 'lights out' time a few minutes later, I went in to see how my little transgressor was doing. My back still hurt, but I had walked off the anger. My girls take discipline quite personally. Mercy was in bed, sniffling, eyes red, tears visible. As soon as she saw me, she turned over and faced the wall. I fetched a box of Kleenex and lay down next to her. The next quarter hour went like this: I would have her sit up to blow her nose; she would lay down again facing the wall and start sniffling again; I would attempt to initiate conversation; she wouldn't speak to me. Then it would be time to blow her nose again.
At last, the emotional torrent dried up and I almost got a smile out of Mercy. But, her first sentence to me was, "You can go lay down in your own bed now." Apparently my audience with Queen Mercy was at an end. My services were no longer needed and I was being dismissed. Truly, I was being punished and we both knew it. According to Mercy's mother, this feminine instinct develops at an early age. Keep in mind, this is a seven year old who dreads being alone in her room before she goes to sleep. Too tired to continue efforts to sooth her ruffled feathers, I trudged off to bed and was soon asleep. It wasn't until the following morning that I learned what happened next.
After I dozed off, Karen went in to check on Mercy and found her still awake. They had a little chat about what had happened and why it is important not to jump on Daddy's back and why Mercy needed to make things right.
"What time does Daddy get up?" Mercy wanted to know.
Karen told her. She counted up the hours from 10 pm to 4 am and realized SHE would not be awake when I left. After that quick calculation, she told Karen, "You can tell Daddy I'm sorry. You can use your own words if you want to."
Wisely, Karen informed Mercy that was her responsibility.
That evening, when Karen came to fetch me at the train station, Mercy was perched in her middle seat in the van when I opened the door to put in my backpack. She looked at me with a quirky smile, looked at Karen, then back to me and said, "Daddy, I'm sorry for jumping on your back." I dutifully apologized as well. I was back in Queen Mercy's good graces. She more than made up for her earlier silent treatment by talking all the way home.
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