The Daddy Diary

Audrey’s 17th surgery is today. If Michelle hadn’t been writing them down, we wouldn’t have come up with the correct number. We had sixteen in our heads. I guess we forgot one.

In our world, this almost doesn’t count as surgery. Audrey is having tubes put in her ears again, and this is her fifth or sixth time. Once again, we lost count. Calling this surgery feels like calling the Dallas Cowboys a Super Bowl contender.

A business partner needed me to join a meeting this week, and I told him that I was available any day this week. “Isn’t Audrey having a procedure on Tuesday?” he asked.

“Yes, but it isn’t a big deal. Michelle can take her, but if I need to be there, I can take the meeting from the hospital. I’ve done it many times.”

I always surprise people when I tell them I can work from the hospital because surgery isn’t a big deal. They don’t seem to understand that this is just a normal day for us. What used to say “Audrey surgery” on my work calendar, now just says “Tuesday.”

Part of me feels like I’m a bad parent because I’m not really nervous about Audrey going into surgery today. Granted, this is very minor compared to what she has been through, but it’s still my kid going under anesthesia. I know I will feel differently the next time she has heart surgery. That is always a big deal.

So, this is just a normal day for our family. Normal. I’m not sure I know what that word means anymore. I have more thoughts on that topic, but more on that later.

To be continued . . .

Dear Santa,

I do not want any material items for Christmas this year, but I have a few requests. The list is fairly long, but you don’t get anything unless you ask, right? I realize that you are not a genie and many of these are beyond your pay grade, but you seem like a popular guy, so I would appreciate it if you would look through your LinkedIn contacts to find the capable parties and make the following requests for me.

I wish:

That our country can come together and stand as one, united in our firm conviction that the left lane is for passing only.

That Harry Potter and Dr. Oz can work together to come up with a solution so a man in his fifties can have six-pack abs without giving up beer.

That I can make enough money to ensure that Audrey will always be provided for financially after I am gone.

That a brilliant group of scientists will use their collective brainpower to change the molecular structure of Peanut M&Ms allowing them to have the same taste but with the nutritional value of broccoli.

That Ella will never stop amazing me with how smart she is.

That Pluto will be considered a planet again.

That Ella will never get tired of giving me hugs.

That all the women in the world will stand up and proclaim that there is nothing sexier than a middle-aged man chauffeuring two small children around in a minivan.

That a monumental medical breakthrough will finally find a cure for the most damaging physical ailment in human society – male pattern baldness.

That Audrey will never get tired of giving me hugs.

That Ella’s ballet teacher will set this year’s dance recital to Van Halen’s Greatest Hits.

That at least one politician will present a reasonable solution to a problem currently facing our country instead of simply blaming the opposing political party for causing all things evil in the world.

That my dog will not start barking whenever someone walks within 50 yards of our house.

That the Marvel Cinematic Universe will release a movie with the most powerful superhero ever– Meetings Man.  He has the ability to conquer all his enemies and villains by using his superpower of forcing them to sit in a company staff meeting until they lose the will to live and drop dead on the spot.

That Billy Joel will release another album.

That people will get as excited to go to church as they are to a football game. (Who says you can’t tailgate before a church service)?

That my baby girl will be able to say “Daddy” with her voice someday.

Sincerely,

Andy Hunt

In our house, Saturday mornings in the fall consist of pancakes and College Gameday on ESPN. Last Saturday morning, instead of watching College Gameday on the day that SMU was playing for a conference championship, I fulfilled my fatherly duty and took Ella to rehearsal for the children’s Christmas pageant at church.  It wasn’t too big of a sacrifice because we recorded the broadcast. Parental sacrifice has been reduced to a minor nuisance since the invention of the DVR. I keep trying to explain to Ella what life was like before we had DVRs, but I don’t think she will ever understand. And I’m glad she doesn’t have to.

It was a dress rehearsal, so I told Ella to wear something with a holiday theme.  So, my always-obedient daughter put on her favorite Halloween outfit.  Daddy’s fault.  I did not specify which holiday. It was a mistake that I would not repeat on the day of the actual production.

As we walked into the sanctuary to gather for the rehearsal, I realized that I had committed the ultimate societal blunder – I had forgotten my phone.  Who leaves the house without their phone? I’m more likely to leave the house without my pants than my phone. What was I going to do for an hour and a half? No email.  No Facebook. No YouTube. And no chance to knock out the daily Wordle.

Sweat-filled panic set in as I pondered the butterfly effect if one of my friends texted me a meme and I wasn’t able to immediately reply with a laughing emoji.  Would he think I was ignoring him? Would he find my lack of response offensive? Would he think I didn’t want to be friends anymore? Those are the only options because nobody could be foolish enough to leave the house without their phone. 

There I sat in a pew by myself relegated to my self-imposed prison completely cut off from the world. Because I had only slept about two hours the night before, I had already solved most of the world’s problems during the previous twelve hours and found myself with absolutely nothing to do.  I had no choice but to observe the world around me and watch the Children’s Choir rehearsal. 

I hadn’t seen a group of people more disinterested than the time I took the History of Ancient Civilizations in college and looked around the classroom while the professor lectured on ancient Sumerian culture. Blank stares. Wandering minds. Heads in the clouds or anyplace else than their current physical location.  Instead of singing, these kids had visions of Sugar Plum Fairies and Pokemon cards dancing through their heads.

Only 8% of the kids were actually singing, and only 5% of those singing were singing on pitch.  But there is nothing cuter than watching a kid belt out a series of independently pitched notes as loud and joyful as they can. My daughter would have been one of the 5% because she has good pitch, but she was one of the 92% doing everything other than singing.

In every kid’s choir, there is always one child with lungs the size of the Goodyear Blimp because he can sing at a decibel level on par with a sonic boom.  One of the ironclad cruelties of life is that this particular child is always one of the 95% of children who is off pitch).

One kid had a problem because it seemed like she had a condition that could only be solved by countless trips to the bathroom. I can only assume that she has a bladder the size of a fruit fly or she is on drugs. Or both.

One boy took this as an opportunity to work on his Floss Dance skills. He spent the entire 90 minutes honing his craft. By the end, I don’t know what was more tired, his hips, his arms, or my eyes. Two other kids spent the entire time dancing what looked like their personal interpretation of The Wobble regardless of the tempo of the song they were supposed to be singing.

Many of the children spent the entire time punching the kid next to them in the arm.  “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good fight.”

As I became mentally absorbed by the various subplots unfolding before me, it never missed my electronic companion. It was the most entertaining 90 minutes I’ve experienced in recent memory, and it was better than anything I’ve ever read on my phone.

The great 20th-century philosopher Ferris Bueller once said, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” Well, I stopped and looked around this year. I noticed a few things:

1. Every time I am in the left turn lane, I get the turn signal at the end of the green light. Every time I’m going straight through an intersection, the left turn lane gets the turn signal at the beginning of the green light.
2. Every time I get a bad feeling about something, I’m usually right.
3. The more I pay for something, the less I enjoy it. The less I pay for something, the more I enjoy it.
4. I have had a Great Pyrenees for three years, and I still can’t spell Pyrenees without the help of spell check.
5. The battery on my iPhone starts to die at the exact same time that the newest model is announced.
6. When I am in the right lane and will be turning right at the red light, if someone cuts me off and pulls over into the right lane in front of me, he will not be turning right on red.
7. There is no bigger feeling of defeat than realizing that the item I want to buy at Home Depot is locked behind one of those cages because the odds of finding an employee who knows the combination and is willing to help me are the same odds as spotting Bigfoot while simultaneously watching Jerry Jones make a trade that benefits the Cowboys.
8. The world was a better place when TV shows had theme songs.
9. Walking your dog is the best way to meet your neighbors.
10. Disney could charge me $5000 monthly for their streaming service, and I would still have to pay it because I have two small children. Please do not forward this post to Bob Iger lest he get any crazy ideas.
11. In complete contrast to observation #3, the ridiculous amount of money we paid for the Roomba that both vacuums and mops was totally worth it.
12. The deaf community is the finest group of people you will ever meet.
13. Special ed teachers are not paid nearly enough. (Note: All teachers are not paid nearly enough).
14. Dr. Suess was probably dropping acid while he wrote his books, and I have no problem with that.
15. Accidentally taking a Melatonin tablet instead of your multivitamin is a terrible way to start your day.
16. Batteries in smoke detectors only die at 2:30 am, never 2:30 pm.
17. If this trend continues, by the end of this decade, people will begin putting up their Christmas decorations on December 26th of the previous year.
18. Jokes about people who ride the short bus aren’t funny when your child rides the short bus.
19. Simply weighing my food before I eat was a pretty simple way to lose weight because apparently, I have the appetite of a teenage male bison. (BTW, I’m down 13 pounds and counting).
20. I don’t get nearly as much junk mail as I used to. I’m sure it’s all going to my spam folder now. Speaking of spam, I think every time you click “Unsubscribe” to an email, you automatically get 10 new spam emails.
21. Nobody driving on the service road yields to the offramp anymore.
22. Whenever a preacher says he heard God speak to him directly, he usually follows that sentence by asking for money.
23. Not to discount talent and hard work, but when it comes to achieving success, nothing beats being in the right place at the right time. I learned this through observation, not personal experience.
24. There is no greater joy in life than having a front-row seat to watch a child grow up.

Thanksgiving Day, 2016

I had just finished eating Thanksgiving Dinner with my in-laws when Amy called me.

“Hey, you need to come to the hospital. We have a meeting with hospice.”

Hospice.

Everyone knows what that word means.

It was only seven days prior that I high-fived my Dad as they wheeled him to physical therapy, which was one of the last steps of recovery from his open-heart surgery. I was so hopeful. In a New York Minute, everything can change.

Last week, Ella asked me if I had any regrets. I told her that my biggest regret is that my Dad never got to meet her and Audrey.

Ella replied, “But I did meet him, Daddy.’

“No, sweetheart, he died before you were born,” I replied

“No, Daddy. Don’t you remember? He sat next to me at that football we went to.”

I took Ella to an SMU football game that year, but nobody sat next to us.

She continued, “The big guy with the grey beard, Daddy. He talked to me the whole game.”

“What did he say?” I asked.

“Nothing interesting. He just talked about football the whole time,” she replied

Yep, that sounds like Dad. Maybe she did meet him. I haven’t been able to ask Audrey if she’s met him yet, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they’ve already met.

I’m still fuzzy on the whole heaven/earth continuum. I’ve always looked at heaven as this faraway place that exists in the distant future, but maybe they are closer than I think.

I don’t know if people in heaven can interact with us on earth, but most people I know who have lost someone close will tell you that they’ve seen signs of that person too clearly to be coincidental. I don’t know if Ella did meet Dad, but I can’t rule it out, either. I do know that if God gives people in heaven the opportunity to interact with those they left behind, my Dad would push his way to the front of the line for a chance to meet my girls.

Regardless of whether Ella met him or not, a part of him lives in my girls.

Dad was socially fearless. He never met a stranger. One time we were at Love Field about to take a flight when Dad said he was going to the shoeshine stand. He had been gone for quite a while, and our flight was about to start boarding, so I walked over to the shoeshine stand to investigate why he was taking so long. I saw my Dad carrying on a conversation with a complete stranger sitting next to him, but you would have thought they were old friends by the way they were laughing and carrying on with each other. And I know that complete stranger was someone that Dad had never met before because it was former Dallas Cowboy Randy White.

Ella is socially fearless. That little girl walks up to every complete stranger she sees and strikes up a conversation. I’m sure if Ella meets Randy White someday, I will see them carrying on like old friends. Our family is a bunch of introverts, and only one person had that same quality.

Audrey got Dad’s toughness. That man had a tolerance for pain like nobody I’ve ever seen. When he had his wisdom teeth cut out, he went to work that afternoon. Who does that?

It is hard to believe that someone as cute and little as Audrey can be that tough. We have to give her a growth hormone shot every night, and when I give the shot she doesn’t cry or even flinch (I cry and flinch). She just looks at me with this expression that says, “Is that all you’ve got.” Pain tolerance might be the most important trait Audrey needs to get through her life.

While I will always regret that my kids were born after my Dad died, I will always be thankful for what he gave my little girls.

It’s hard to believe he left us eight years ago today, but maybe it was only his body that left us.

Michelle and I lived in a high-rise in Downtown Dallas after we got married. Neither of us had done the urban living thing, and we thought we should do it before we had children. Our thinking was correct in that it was exciting and fun and then very different once we had a child. Downtown had a hum of energy that ran 24/7, and our floor-to-ceiling windows looked down on Main Street which always provided a view of something interesting. Plus, we could walk to numerous bars and restaurants whenever we wanted to grab dinner or a drink.

And then we had Ella. Living downtown with a child wasn’t nearly as fun. There were a few kid-friendly restaurants, but pushing a stroller through a downtown crowd just to get something to eat wasn’t nearly as fun. We knew that we would be following the parental playbook and moving out of downtown eventually, so we made the inevitable move to the suburbs and ended up in Plano. I explained why we chose Plano in my post – https://daddydiary.blog/2024/05/21/i-saw-the-sign/.

When I was single, I would tease my friends who moved to the suburbs and tell them that they used to be cool, but now they are boring. It turns out that I was correct. According to a recent national survey, Plano was rated one of the 15 most boring cities in America. I don’t know how many cities there are in America, but I know that to make the Top 15, Plano must be really boring. Here is what the author of the survey had to say:

Plano is a relatively pleasant and calm location to live, but calm hardly equals an exciting travel destination. The nightlife of this city was ranked 93rd in the US and 97th regarding most music venues per person here.

Things could be better regarding art centers and fine dining options as well. And even though this city is indeed located in an affluent state with excellent schools, it lacks a lot of entertainment most look for when planning their vacation.

Plain-O, Texas. Where the name says it all.

For all my Plano neighbors, don’t put the “For Sale” sign up in your yard just yet. According to another survey that was released just after the “boring” survey, Plano was listed as the happiest city in America.

Wait, what? How can one of the most boring cities also be the happiest? I haven’t seen a plot twist like that since Kaiser Soze climbed into the passenger seat of a black Jaguar.

I didn’t think that you couldn’t be bored and happy at the same time.

The “happy” survey mentions things like financial stability, health insurance coverage, and overall quality of life. Boy, I had been looking for happiness in the wrong places.

I had been looking for happiness in the places that the “Boring” survey mentioned – bars and concert venues. That’s not to say that I wasn’t happy when I was grabbing drinks with friends or attending a concert. But the high I get after a concert is fleeting. Sometimes it lasts for an hour, sometimes it lasts for a couple of days. Maybe the “happy” survey was on to something. Maybe it was alluding to a different kind of happiness.

Since I moved to Plano, I have lived what many would consider a boring life. I spend most of my nights at home playing with Legos, board games, and the make-believe game du jour that Ella conjured up. I don’t drive an exciting car, and I don’t routinely dine at Michelin-star restaurants. I watch 60 Minutes religiously. If you looked up “boring” in the dictionary, it would say, “See Andy in Plano.”

One night last week, Ella asked if I would sit with her and watch her read. It didn’t sound like a very exciting offer, but of course, I said yes. So, she climbed into my lap and began reading a Nancy Drew book. I watched as my daughter became deeply enthralled in the mystery and asked if she could stay up past her bedtime to finish the book. Even if I had said no because it was bedtime, she just would’ve taken the book with her to bed and read after I left. Plus, both of my legs fell asleep somewhere around page 12, so it wasn’t as if I was going anywhere anyway. I sat there for an hour while she read to herself.

By any definition, sitting and watching someone else read would be classified as boring. Not one time during the hour did I think to myself, “I’m really bored.” Granted, my mind wandered several times during that hour, and I was able to solve several of the world’s problems (future blog post notification) as I sat and watched her read.

Ok, I was wrong. Happy and boring can coexist, it’s just that happiness trumps boredom. And maybe happiness has more to do with your company than your geography.

I have a confession to make – I’m a member of the MOB. No, I don’t belong to a nefarious organized crime organization. I belong to the Men Of Barksdale, the group of men who volunteer at Ella’s school.

Last week, the school asked the MOB to greet the kids at morning drop off, and they were looking for volunteers. I signed up because I’ve done this before, and it’s fun and relatively easy. All I have to do is wave at kids and say “Good Morning” as they enter the school.

Then, I got the message that no MOB member wants to get. “Hey, we need somebody to play Bucky. Would you be willing to do it?”

Bucky the Bronco is the school’s mascot. They needed somebody to dress up in the school mascot’s costume and greet the kids as they entered the school.

My first instinct was to make up an excuse because I really didn’t want to do it. I’m not a natural when it comes to interacting with children. I’m pretty good with my own kids now, but being surrounded by a bunch of children is not my wheelhouse. So, thinking like a spy at work, I scanned my brain to find an excuse, but it turns out that I would make a terrible spy because I came up with nothing. And it was text, not even a phone call. I had all the time in the world to come up with an excuse, but I held a big bag of nothing. I guess lying is a skill I never fully developed.

Also, I had just finished reading “The Comfort Crisis” by Michael Easter. In the book, he discusses the fact that we live mostly comfortable lives, and he shows the value of embracing discomfort. Granted, most of his book talks about things like physical discomfort, but the point is that when you live a comfortable life, you are only going to get what you already have. You have to be uncomfortable to achieve anything noteworthy or to experience something new. So, I told myself that the next time I found an opportunity to do something uncomfortable, I was going to do it. The thought of dressing up as the school mascot made me really uncomfortable. It’s not exactly Caribou hunting in the Yukon for a month, but it’s an uncomfortable baby step.

So, I said yes.

That morning, I told Ella that I couldn’t walk her to the bus stop because I had to get to school early. I was going to be Bucky. She was so excited and asked if she would see me. I told her that she probably wouldn’t see me because I would be in the front of the school, and the bus drops off kids at the back of the school.

I got to school early and told the staff that Bucky was there. Then, they led me to a conference room by the school office where I fumbled to put on the costume. There wasn’t an owner’s manual or YouTube video for me to figure this thing out. Do I still wear my shoes inside the monstrous costume feet that they provide or just roll with sock feet? And how the heck was I supposed to zip up the zipper in the back when I have the shoulder flexibility of a geriatric buffalo?

I completed the process as best I could and strolled through the school office. I opened the door to the office and didn’t make it an entire step into the hallway before I was swarmed by a mob (no pun intended) of first and second-graders.

I learned very quickly that kids LOVE Bucky.

All I could hear was “Bucky! Bucky! Bucky!” as I felt dozens of pairs of little arms giving me hugs. And then I saw the crowd parting as one kid was fighting her way through the phalanx like a leper trying to touch Jesus (Yes, I just compared Bucky the Bronco to Jesus. Deal with it).

Then, that little girl made her way to Bucky and yelled, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! That’s my Daddy!” as Ella reached up and gave me the biggest hug. I don’t think she was supposed to reveal the true identity of Bucky, but that wasn’t the time to educate my daughter on proper mascot protocol.

I made my way to the front of the building and spent the next twenty minutes getting hugs and high-fives from little kids. I also learned that there is no better way to start the day than getting hugs and high-fives from kids. I could feel my heart smiling for the rest of the day. My uncomfortable moment ended up being one of the most memorable mornings of my life.

So, next time you have an opportunity to do something uncomfortable, just say yes and be Bucky. You just might make a lasting memory.

P.S. Just don’t agree to be Bucky in the summer in Texas. That costume is wicked hot. Being uncomfortable does not mean being miserable and passing out from heat exhaustion.

Neurologist: “The ENT team wants to talk to you about your daughter’s MRI.”

Me: “Why would an ENT doctor want to talk to us about a brain MRI?”

Neurologist: “They noticed something that they need to discuss with you.”

Later that day, the ENT doctor told us that after looking at Audrey’s MRI, he noticed a problem with her vestibular system. He told us that she was missing her semicircular canals. I remembered from high school biology that the semicircular canals are structures inside the ear that help the body balance.

“You mean they aren’t working? I asked.

“No, she doesn’t have them. They are missing.”

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“Well, that certainly wasn’t what I was expecting” isn’t the statement you want to hear from your daughter’s doctor.

We were going over Audrey’s latest sleep study, and the results were the exact opposite of what we were expecting to see.

Audrey is a terrible sleeper. At first, I thought she got this from me. If insomnia were an Olympic sport, I’m at worst a Silver Medalist. There’s probably an overly stressed-out Corporate CEO in Toyko living on a steady diet of whiskey and cigarettes who could edge me out for the Gold Medal, but other than that, few people can rival my ability to function without sleep.

Unfortunately for Audrey, she can’t deal with a lack of sleep like her daddy. I just pour coffee down my throat like it’s Gatorade after a long run. Not the best solution for a five-year-old, but the thought has crossed my mind. It’s heartbreaking to see her in the morning after a sleepless night. There has been more than one occasion when I walked over to the breakfast table and saw her sweet face resting on her tray because she fell asleep eating breakfast.

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Theodicy isn’t an epic poem by Homer. Theodicy is a philosophy that tries to justify the existence of an all-loving God in a world of evil and pain. It attempts to answer the question, “Why do bad things happen to good people?”

It’s a question I’ve been pondering for a long time, especially during the last five years. I’ve been asked so many times, “Why did God do this to Audrey?” (Hint: He didn’t, at least not directly, but that will be covered in a later blog post).

Ella is just about at the point where she is about to realize that her daddy is an idiot. At the age of four, she began asking questions like “Is ketchup a non-Newtonian fluid?” And the questions only got harder from there. So, I started watching Neil DeGrasse Tyson videos online just so I could have at least a talking point or two to answer her scientific questions. Someday she will learn that her daddy is an idiot, but I’m trying to hold that off until at least Junior High. I hope Neil can help.

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