Time And Time Again

Ritual is important. Nothings binds us to each other like special things we always do no matter what. Every person I know, regardless of their past, seems to cling to at least one sweet memory of ritual. Little things like reading the comics together each Sunday or walks to the park to feed the ducks. Somehow, seemingly mundane interactions can take on a sort of golden quality. There is a story in family lore that, as a preschooler, I unknowingly planted the seed for ritual. I don’t remember Valentine’s Day when I was three, but the legend is that I was crushed when my mom received a valentine from my dad and I did not. Apparently, I was so inconsolable over the idea that he “didn’t love his own little daughter,” he was compelled to bring home a valentine for me on that and every subsequent Valentine’s Day until I was an adult. Even in years when we were separated by distance both emotional and geographic, I could still rely on February’s ritual. Scarlett and her daddy have a ritual, too. When the hour for night-night arrives, they collect a bouquet of binkies, give kisses, and make their way up the stairs. I am waved off by a tiny diva hand if I try to follow. This is their time and no mommies are allowed. In Dan Yaccarino’s Every Friday, an ordinary workday morning turns into special time. Sometimes you just have to hang out with dad. I get it.

http://www.amazon.com/Every-Friday-Dan-Yaccarino/dp/0805077243

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dan_Yaccarino