“Wanna know something cool that Hadley does? It’s called Snapchat! It has a thing where your picture looks—”
“No. No Snapchat. You’re six,” I said heavily. It was already starting. If she wanted Snapchat at six, was she going to ask for Tinder in third grade? I had the impulse to throw all the cell phones and tablets in the ocean. I didn’t want a world of bullies and creeps to chat with my child. I wanted to take two Tylenol, go to sleep, and wake up to her being two years old again. When she was two, she loved cows. I used to drive her over to a farm to look at them through the fence as a treat. Just cows. No Snapchat or wanting to use an ax—back when things were simple.
“But, Daddy, it’s to send funny pictures to my friends!” she said.
“Look, I’m glad Hadley thinks it’s fun, and I’m sure you like it and want it. But it’s not safe for you. We can take some silly pictures on my phone with the filters. I’ll even send one to Hadley’s parents for you. That way you can have the fun too.”
“Daddy, please!”
“Nope. Game over. No Snapchat. If you’re good, we’ll do a selfie after supper. You can pick the filter.”
“I can pick? There’s one that makes your head into broccoli! I want a broccoli head!”
“You do? You don’t want a cute one with teddy bear ears and a nose?” I asked.
“Nope, I want a broccoli head!” she laughed and laughed.
“All right, broccoli head, get the butter out of the fridge. We have garlic bread to make.”
I mixed up garlic butter, and she smeared it on the slices of French bread. Some of the pieces had a glob of butter an inch thick on them in one spot, and other ones had a hole where she’d pushed too hard and ripped the bread. I didn’t say a word to discourage her. This was how she’d learn, by practicing and doing it herself. I resisted the urge to take the knife and do it ‘right’ so they all looked the same. She grinned when she was done and said it was ready for the oven. I scooted her stool over and popped the pan in the oven and set the timer. With the spaghetti boiling and the bread baking and the sauce simmering, we were well on our way to a good homemade supper.
“Go wash your hands, kiddo, it’ll be ready in a minute.”
“Okay, can you help me with homework?”
“Homework?” I asked.
“I have to do words,” she sighed like the sight word flash cards were the same as writing a ten-page paper.
“We’ll do them before your bath, don’t worry,” I told her.
“I want to do the broccoli head first. Please?” she pleaded.
“All right, one picture, then we do your words, and you have your bath. Then you know what time it’ll be.”
“Yeah, I know I have to brush my teeth and go to bed. But I get a story first.”
“Yes, you get a story first. Which one tonight?” I inquired.
“You know which one!” she laughed.
“Not again!” I made a show of covering my face with my hands like I was horrified that I had to read the same book again and again.
After we ate supper and I heard all the details of Hadley’s many, magical selfies from Snapchat and also about the boy in her class who put green beans up his nose at lunch, Sadie was thrilled with the picture of her face as broccoli with weird eye circles. I sent it to Hadley’s dad, Mark, and we did her sight words. She blazed through them fast, and I was so proud of her. She played with her mermaid Barbie dolls in the bath for a long time, and then I helped her into her jammies and read her a book.
“Tomorrow we’ll do this more, right, Daddy?” she asked.
“Yes. Every night.”
“When I go to sleep what do you do?” she wondered aloud.
“I clean up the kitchen, sometimes I watch TV, and then I go to sleep,” I said.
“Don’t you wish I could watch TV with you?” she asked, a mischievous grin on her face.
“Of course I miss you when you’re asleep, but you need your sleep so you can do what?”
“Get big and strong! Then I can cut down trees with you and I can swim without floaties and I can eat a whole one of Rachel’s pies all by myself and not give you any!” she said. I laughed.
“I think you’d be sick if you ate a whole pie. And it’s going to be a good long time before you’re big enough to cut down a tree.”
“Do I have to go to high school to learn how?” she asked.
“Yes,” I told her.
“Do I have to drive a car?”
“When you get bigger, you’ll want to drive a car,” I told her.
“But I’m scared I can’t see out the big window!” she said.
“You’ll be taller then and you can see out, baby, don’t worry about stuff like that.”
I took down one of her old favorites that we hadn’t read in a while, one about a cow, and she snuggled up beside me. She fell asleep before we finished the story, and I kissed her head. When I switched off the light, I couldn’t help thinking that she was so smart for her age, so mature and intuitive, and I wouldn’t always be able to allay her fears like that. But it felt good to know I could keep her safe now, that a story and a snuggle was still enough to fix anything that troubled her.
“Good night, sweet girl,” I whispered. “Daddy loves you so much.”
I sat down on the couch, but I didn’t turn on the TV. I stared at the dark screen and wondered what in the world I was going to do now that Denise was moving away. My sweet girl trusted and depended on her—and so
