“I Forgot…”

I have learned to be afraid of two specific words in HRH’s vocabulary – more so than any others. They’re even worse than the dreaded “What if…”  (click HERE).  These two words would strike fear into the hearts of even the most patient and nurturing of step fathers such as myself. 

Those two words are: “I forgot…” 

It’s doesn’t matter what words follow those two preceding words but, let me assure you, they’re definitely not going to be favorable.  Be afraid my friends, be afraid.

I experienced just these two very words only this morning approximately 20 minutes into our commute into the city; her to the day camp; me to work. Usually, these two words might be preceded by another two words, “Oh no!” – just as she did today – so maybe those might be the two most feared words but, hey, I digress…when strung together they’re the Devil’s Quartet of the nine-year-old vernacular.

And there they were, echoing excitedly from the backseat:

“Oh no! I forgot…”

Wait for it…

…my lunch!”


Now I could have dealt with just about anything at that point like a forgotten water bottle, her YMCA membership card, a sweater, a pair of shoes perhaps, but a lunch isn’t something you can take lightly; specifically her lunch. Sure, I could just pull over at Subway and grab her half sandwich but then I’d just be that dad: the guy who sent his kid to camp with half a meatball sub. Sorry, can’t do it. 

So I did what I had to do and turned around to make for home.  I will admit to trying to mentally calculate how long she might be expected to go without food but I quickly gave that up as I have no mind for numbers.  So what choice did I have?  Frustrating, right; infuriating even?

But here’s the thing: you can’t even really get mad at her. Shit, when I was nine-years-old, if it didn’t have anything to directly do with either my penis, or maybe my G.I. Joe’s, then the chances were very good that I wasn’t even aware of it, much less remembering it. And with her mind already completely overloaded with ponies, princesses, leftover pancakes, and whathaveyou, well, who could blame her? 

She’s got a lot going on in there already.

God help me.

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