Sunday, April 15, 2012



















Hi! I've been on a hiatus.  I hope for not too much longer.  Please stand by as I get my schtick together.  Thanks for checking in!  ~  Trophy Dad

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Misunderstanding (Genesis - 1980)

Any similarities to actual events and persons in my family are not coincidental. This story took place between Wednesday, January 31, and Monday, February 2, 2009.

make-up \ˈmā-ˌkəp\ - something that makes up for a previous postponement, omission, failure, or deficiency. ~ Merriam-Webster's Online Dictionary

Every Wednesday my three-year-old daughter went to gymnastics.

Well, most every Wednesday.

Because of my forgetfulness, and occasional bouts with lethargy, we missed a class or two, or three, or maybe . . . well, who's counting? Thankfully, I was able to schedule make-up classes.

The first time we missed class, I informed Lucy we missed gymnastics but not to be sad because “I was able to schedule a make-up class for next Monday.” To my surprise, Lucy wasn't the least bit upset. She appeared even excited about what she called her "new class.”

The day of the make-up class came. As I dressed Lucy in her black long-sleeved leotard, she asked me,"Dad, why do I have to wear my leotard to the make-up class?"

I answered simply, "Because it's gymnastics. Gymnasts wear leotards."

For a moment Lucy looked confused, before apparently making sense of my response. Running late (what else is new?), I moved past her odd question and quizzical look.

As we pulled into the gymnastics parking lot, Lucy asked, "Is the make-up class here?"

"Of course, where else would it be Silly?" I said.

Lucy sat silently, suddenly looking unsure about the situation.

I hustled Lucy inside and quickly shed all but her leotard (and Dora The Explorer underwear — stylishly visible underneath). Racing through the gym door, I directed her to a smiling instructor seated in a small circle of Lucy sized humans.

Lucy hesitated before slowly making her way to the circle and finding a spot to sit.

For the next fifty-five minutes I watched with a handful of Moms from the waiting area as the children stretched, straddled, somersaulted, jumped, ran, balanced, and lastly — what I'm told is the very "bestest" part — got ink stamps on their hands and feet. Lucy gave her instructor a high-five and came bursting through the gym door. Looking like she had something very important to tell me, she ran to where I sat.

"Daddy! There was no makeup in the class."

Puzzled by her comment I repeated,"No makeup?"

Shaking her head from side-to-side, Lucy said, "Yes, they had no makeup! It was not the makeup class."

I smiled, "Honey, that was not a makeup class it was . . ."

Interrupting, she said, "I know Dad, you put me in the wronged class!"

Oh okay, you mean the makeup class, as in a class about cosmetics, commonly confused by fathers with the make-up class, as in the save your ass class when he forgets to take his kid to the regularly scheduled class. Well, someone had some explaining to do — and that would be me.

The same word but with a different meaning conundrum. The peculiarity of language or the natural by-product of a forty-four-year-old man sharing his days with a three-year-old makeup crazed little girl?

I don't know who or what is to blame. But I do know, you can't make up this stuff.

makeup \ˈmā-ˌkəp\ - cosmetics used to color and beautify the face. ~ Merriam-Webster's Online Dictionary