Glitter And Glue
“Milly asks when I pick her up from school, sounding like me for the first ten, or twenty, years of my life.
“Around dinnertime.” I reach over to put on her seat belt but she shakes me off. She’s got it.
“That’s so long from now,” she whines.
I’ve done a fine job these last two days, but the kids miss John all the same. Even if he sometimes seems lost or out of place, more like a stepfather than a father, the kids want him more than anyone. I guess that’s the thing about parents.
“How do you lik...e my new hair? I dyed it.”
“Your hair died?” Martin asks.
“No, I colored it. I made it red with a dye, like tie-dyed shirts.”
“It doesn’t look red,” Milly says, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. She’s right. It doesn’t look anything like the plastic hair in the supermarket. Some things you can’t change.
As we pull out, I turn on the radio. “Okay, guys. This is Tom Petty.” I jack up the volume. “Listen. Hear that organ?” I raise my finger and tap it in the air.MoreLess
“Around dinnertime.” I reach over to put on her seat belt but she shakes me off. She’s got it.
“That’s so long from now,” she whines.
I’ve done a fine job these last two days, but the kids miss John all the same. Even if he sometimes seems lost or out of place, more like a stepfather than a father, the kids want him more than anyone. I guess that’s the thing about parents.
“How do you lik...e my new hair? I dyed it.”
“Your hair died?” Martin asks.
“No, I colored it. I made it red with a dye, like tie-dyed shirts.”
“It doesn’t look red,” Milly says, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. She’s right. It doesn’t look anything like the plastic hair in the supermarket. Some things you can’t change.
As we pull out, I turn on the radio. “Okay, guys. This is Tom Petty.” I jack up the volume. “Listen. Hear that organ?” I raise my finger and tap it in the air.MoreLess
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