The Parable of the Pee Dance
|“Dad!”
And out swept the cool calmness of delicious sleep. My mind swooshed up a corridor toward reality, then forced my eyes open. It was dark. The luscious dreams from early morning sneaked away in the very moment I tried to solidify what they were.
“Dad! I have to pee!” whispered an urgent voice from the doorway.
I squinted pointlessly, “Okay, buddy, go ahead and go.” I could tell my breath was pretty bad.
“Can you help me?”
Could I? Of course, of course. But, we had put a lot of time and hours into helping my 3-year-old do this all on his own. Many scoops of Tide with Lavender scent. Countless frantic runs to the public bathrooms. Strategic planning taking place for every trip.
Spare underwear and pants? Check. Spare socks? (per gravity). Check. Time since last large drink? More than 45 minutes, check. Last try? Just now.
Okay, let’s roll.
So we had taught him how to fish, as the saying goes. We had made sure of this. But in his frantic, pleading, half-conscience moment of need, he waited and maybe expected me to give him a fish again. No. You know how to fish, little one.
“Daddy!” now more urgent than ever. I sighed.
Not one minute later, I felt the dreary envelope of sleep slithering up and around all over again. It had not been worth it, to make him do it alone, or deal with the crying when I said to go do it alone. And it wasn’t right, either. It seemed appropriate that our “rules” about making him go to the bathroom on his own be left open to exception from time to time, like tonight.
There’s nothing that incites fury more than corporate policy and procedure when you’re about to pee your pants in the middle of a dark night alone.
“Please press 8 to…”
“I’m sorry, we need your account number to fulfill that request.”
“If you don’t have your receipt…”
Sometimes you just have to go outside the protocol and help a kid out, even if you have to get out of a cozy bed.

Pigs look so funny on leashes.