Bless his heart, Robert wanted to make sure Father’s Day would last as long as possible, so he started it off at 6:15 this morning. When I saw the sunbeam streaking across the living room, I knew it was time for a crack-of-dawn walkabout. Early Sunday morning is a wonderfully eerie time to be prowling around the neighborhood — especially if you’re with a toddler who has developed a sudden interest in running into the street.
He scampers really quickly now, especially when he’s puttin’ the hammer down behind his little stroller. And he fits in well with the other stroller jockeys, who usually turn the playground into a NASCAR event. Unfortunately, he’s too enamored of his newfound speed to bother looking where he’s going. (Our neighbor’s dachshund, who narrowly missed getting broadsided the other day, was suitably put out.)
We spent about three hours out and about, wandering into local establishments, exchanging pleasantries with dog walkers and sidewalk rinsers, and sharing an avocado and cheese omelette at our local diner. Later, at the playground, I mentioned Robert’s early rising to another dad, and he replied with a good-natured scoff. Regardless of when they go to bed, his two daughters wake up at 5 a.m. every day. That’s the thing about parenting: No matter how soon you start your day, somebody still thinks you’re a slacker.
