Bearly Time

My youngest son, Joey, had very recently graduated from the "Terrible 2's" to the "Terrifying 3's". His older siblings were in half-day pre-school and I was Mr. Mom for the day. "Half-day" is a misnomer... it was about 2½ hours and Joey and I had a lot to do. Outside of the typical male bonding you'd expect from such an arrangement we had chores; cleaning up, laundry, and grocery shopping.

I hurriedly carried bags in from the car with an eye on my watch, our time was almost up and I still had to put the groceries away. It didn't matter what the clock said or didn't say, Joey knew only one unit of time and it was measured in birthday parties.

"Daddy... will you pretend to be a bear?", Joey said irresistibly.

"rrrrRRRAAAAAAHHHHRRG!", I roared, fingers curled into giant claws above my head.

Joey giggle-screamed at full volume and ran out of the kitchen as quick as his stubby little legs would take him. I put away the ice cream.

What followed was a satisfying break from my previously undivided attention on Joey... short though it was because I had obviously not followed through and lived up to the boy's expectations.

Joey bounced back into the kitchen, "Daddy... will you pretend to be a bear?"

"rrrrRRRAAAAAAHHHHRRG!", I bellowed louder than the time before.

Joey giggle-screamed at full volume again and raced out of the kitchen. I put away the Macaroni & Cheese.

This cycle repeated a few times, each time Joey would exit the kitchen with an anticipatory squeal only to return moments later with a re-established intent to draw me out.

Until it stopped. Joey broke the rhythm. After one giant growl he did not return on queue for another disappointing round of "Daddy Bear Is Busy". There was an extended pause... and then Joey walked slowly back into the kitchen with a more serious demeanor.

"Daddy... will you pretend to be a good Daddy?"