Present Perfect

Last night I rode our bike home from Brooklyn, with my daughter crying loudly "You are not my papa!" most of the way.

We were a few minutes late picking her up from her class, and she was the last one there, crying in the arms of the teacher, and yelling something loudly, too loud to understand.
I picked her up, hugged her, asked what's wrong and tried to calm her down, but she wasn't having it. I put her in the back of our bike, strapping her in, checking with my son what she could be saying. We finally started making out that she was saying "not my papa".

I tried to convince her that I am, in fact, her papa, but she just kept repeating the same thing. We started our ride back home, and at the first red light I was acutely aware of her still yelling the same thing while standing still in traffic next to other bikes. What would I do if I was stuck in traffic next to a vehicle with a crying child yelling "You are not my papa?", I wondered. I started asking her questions like, "what hair color does your papa have?" to get her to stop and think, and I would respond, "that's interesting, just like me". I'd ask a few questions like that until the lights turned green.

I was hoping this would work for all the stops on our 25 minute ride home, and I was hoping we'd not run into any police cars along the way, just in case. Of course, two minutes later, I was parallel with a string of five police cars, all with their lights flashing. I kept repeating the questions at every stop, until she fell asleep as she usually does on the bike.

She slept all the way through dinner, and the next morning at breakfast I asked her, "who's your papa?" And she beamed at me and yelled, "you are my papa!"

My best guess at what happened is that at pickup she saw a string of papas pick up their kids, but didn't see me, and started saying "you are not my papa" at every other papa, until I was the last one to show up. I'll never show up last again.

Last night I rode our bike home from Brooklyn, with my daughter crying loudly "You are not my papa!" most of the way. We were a few minutes late picking...

Most mornings I take Phoenix to school, as his school is two blocks away from work.

We take the subway to school, having about a half hour window to leave as the school has a half-hour play window before school really starts, which inevitably gets eaten up by collecting all the things, putting on all the clothes, picking the mode of transportation (no, not the stroller; please take the step so we can go fast), and getting out the door.

At the time we make it out, the subway is usually full of people, as are the cars, so we shuffle in and Phoenix searches for a seat, which is not available, but as long as he gets close enough to a pole and a person who looks like they'd be willing to give up a seat once they pay attention, he seems to get his way more often than not. And sometimes, the person next to them also offers up their seat to me. Which is when the fun begins.

Because, like any parent knows these days, as soon as you sit down next to each other, that one question will come:

"Papa, papa, papa... mag ik jouw telefoon?" (Can I have your phone? - Phoenix and I speak Dutch exclusively to each other. Well, I do to him.)

At which point, as a tired parent in the morning, you have a choice - let them have that Instrument of Brain Decay which even Silicon Valley parents don't let their toddlers use, or push yourself to make every single subway ride an engaging and entertaining fun-filled program for the rest of eternity.

Or maybe... there is a middle way. Which is how, every morning, Phoenix and I engage in the same routine. I answer: "Natuurlijk mag jij mijn telefoon... als je éérst een verhaaltje vertelt." (Of course you can have my phone - if you first tell me a story.)

Phoenix furrows his brows, and asks the only logical follow-up question there is - "Welk verhaaltje?" (Which story?)

And I say "Ik wil het verhaaltje horen van het jongetje en zijn vader die met de metro naar school gaan" (I want to hear the story of the little boy and his dad who take the subway to school.)

And he looks at me with big eyes and says, "Dat verhaaltje ken ik niet." (I don't know that story)

And I begin to tell the story:

"Er was eens... een jongetje en zijn vader." (Once upon a time, there was a little boy and his father. Phoenix already knows the first three words of any story.)
"En op een dag... gingen dat jongetje en zijn vader met de metro naar school." (And one day... the little boy and his father took the subway to school. The way he says "op een dag" whenever he pretends to read a story from a book is so endearing it is now part of our family tradition.)

"Maar toen de jongen en zijn vader op de metro stapten zat de metro vol met mensen. En het jongetje wou zitten, maar er was geen plaats. Tot er een vriendelijke mevrouw opstond en haar plaats gaf aan het jongetje, en het jongetje ging zitten. En toen stond de meneer naast de mevrouw ook recht en de papa ging naast het jongetje zitten." (But when the little boy and his father got on the subway, it was full of people. And the little boy wanted to sit but there was no room. Until a friendly woman stood up and gave up her seat to the little boy, so the little boy sat down. And then the man next to the woman also stood up and his father sat down next to him.)

"En toen de jongen op de stoel zat, zei het jongetje, Papa papa papa papa papa papa papa..."(And when the boy sat down on the chair, he said Papa papa papa papa papa papa)

"Ja?, zei papa." (Yes?, said papa.)

"Papa, mag ik jouw telefoon"? (Papa, can I have your phone?)

"Natuurlijk jongen..... als je éérst een verhaaltje vertelt." (Of course son... if you first tell me a story.)

At which point, the story folds in on itself and recurses, and Phoenix's eyes light up as he mouths parts of the sentences he already remembers, and joins me in telling the next level of recursion of the story.

I apologize in advance to all the closing parentheses left dangling like the terrible lisp programmer I've never given myself the chance to be, but making that train ride be phoneless every single time so far is worth it.

Most mornings I take Phoenix to school, as his school is two blocks away from work. We take the subway to school, having about a half hour window to leave...