the shirt

About a year and a half ago my daughter and I were running around somewhere. I don't remember where it was, only that it was out in public.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, she sneezed one of those monster explosion sneezes where it just plain goes everywhere.

Sneezing is no big deal for kids, but when you're a kid and have one of those explosive kind, where stuff is literally everywhere and an absolute mess, it can be rather traumatic. You're covered in all kinds of gunk. You feel dirty. Ugly. Helpless. All you can think about is this ick all around and on you.

I heard the sneeze, and noted that it sounded a tad different from normal sneezes. Just as I decided to peer down to see what was going on I heard it. My daughter had already begun to wail about the nasty, helpless situation she was in. It wasn't overwhelming to me, but to her it was more than she could bear. She was paralyzed in yuck.

She desired to be clean, to be free from the discharge that had crept up and out unexpectedly.

She cried out for her Daddy, who was right there with her, to help. Passionate in the heart, if at all possible, to be a good father.

There I stood beside her, empty handed.

I didn't even pause at what to do. Immediately I pulled my shirt tail out to lengthen it, then reached to her face. I simultaneously spoke softly to her, letting her know I was right there and it would be okay.

Daddy's voice has a way of calming her when things are chaotic, painful, dirty, lost, broken, paralyzing, numbing.

Cleaning the mess with the shirt and also talking softly to her dissipated the horror of the moment for her. Now, of course it wasn't the worst of events, but to her it was...and that is what mattered.

So we were standing in the aftermath, my shirt now a mess when something flashed to mind.

I don't know whether I did it to be a funny Daddy or to reinforce to her that cleaning her mess was more important to the condition of my shirt--maybe it was some of both--but I pulled my shirt out, stared at the mess, and in a funny tone and a comical look on my face said "Bleh!!! Ehhh!! Look at my shirt."

My daughter stared at me with a grin and began to howl in laughter. I kept on with tongue-in-cheek eww stuff a little longer, then began to laugh with her.

In a flash things became a total mess. Daddy was right there, and used an unorthodox thing to dispel the trauma and the dirtiness. Then afterward made it clear that there was no disgrace in him having gotten dirtied on her behalf. It pleased him to do what he did, and in making sure she knew this she ended up with a smile on her face.

Some time after this we were at a public restroom at a convenience store. After my daughter went she washed her hands. Upon finishing at the sink she looked around and there was neither a paper towel nor a dryer. I extended my shirt, she dried her hands, and again I did the tongue-in-cheek "hey look at my shirt" funny stuff with her. We shared the same light heartedness and giggles as before.

Whenever I'm with her and she has a yucky sneeze, there's no hesitation. She knows Daddy's shirt is always available to her for messes. It is gladly offered, without reservation. Without repercussion.

There is no sense at all of "I'm messing up Daddy's shirt" or "I made a mess". No, rather it is simply instilled in her that when a mess comes about Daddy is right there, passionate, and unconditionally offers of himself to help her. Gladly, joyfully he gives of himself for her--in a way that brings calm, and a smile to both faces.

Ever since these moments, when we find ourself Kleenex-less or paper towel-less, my daughter gets a devilish grin on her face and comes at me--nose dripping or hands wringing. It's something Daddy's heart never tires of.

What's interesting is she goes for Daddy's shirt even when there are paper towels available. She much prefers Daddy's continous offer to other alternatives which would do just as well.

Maybe it's because she wants to laugh. Maybe it's because she wants to see Daddy do his silly tongue-in-cheek routine. Maybe she loves that Daddy helps her without reservation, whether it's something serious or not.

It doesn't really matter what it is, whether any of these or something else. I do know one other thing. There are times when we do have situations come up that are messy and she cries. Sometimes I don't know what to say as I hold her and she cries. Some situations are just yuck, and I'm at a loss to really know what to do.

Whenever the situation is stuck and I have no idea what to say it is awkward. Sometimes situations are just ugly, and to attempt to put some type of pretty bow on it is not only cheap but also bad.

Whenever this happens, and we're sitting there in the awkward white noise with no segue, a lightbulb will go off and my daughter will suddenly lift her head up and proceed to wipe the snottyness from her crying onto my shirt.

Whether it's jovial or serious is okay with Daddy. The thing is she knows Daddy welcomes her regardless of what is going on. Trauma or teasing she is always welcome to Daddy's shirt without condition.