When Rasa was three years old, we took our first solo plane trip together.
Just her and me, that is.
No Mom.
Crissie was at a work conference in another city.
She’d meet us there.
*
I was pretty confident the trip would go fine.
I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?
Rasa would get hungry?
She’d have an accident?
She’d cry?
*
Any of those were okay.
Kids get hungry.
They have accidents.
They cry.
No big deal.
*
But then it occured to me.
What if I had the problem?
Say I got sick.
Say I got tired.
Say I had the meltdown.
That was my true worst-case scenario.
Crissie asking, “How was it?”
And me or Rasa telling her: “Daddy cried.”
*
I thought about how to take care of myself.
And I came up with a plan.
*
Rasa and I got up early the morning of our flight.
We dressed and waited at the door for the taxi to take us to the airport.
“This trip is going to have lots of little steps in it,” I said.
“After each one, I’m going to bow my head.”
“I want you to pat it.”
“I want you to say, ‘Good job, Dad.’”
Rasa looked confused.
“And then I’ll give you a Tic Tac,” I added.
“Oh!” Rasa said.
She was was really into Tic Tacs.
“Okay.”
*
The cab came.
We got in.
We rode to the airport.
We got out.
I bowed my head.
Rasa smiled sleepily, waiting patiently for whatever was supposed to happen next.
*
I showed my daughter the box of Tic Tacs.
I shook it.
I mock-patted my own head.
“Remember?” I hissed.
*
“Right!” Rasa said.
She patted my head.
“‘Good job, Dad,’” I whispered.
“Good job, Dad,” Rasa repeated.
“Thanks,” I said.
I gave her a Tic Tac.
*
Rasa and I checked in.
We went through security
Twice I bowed my head.
Twice Rasa patted it.
“Good job, Dad,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said.
Each time I gave her a Tic Tac.
*
Rasa and I went to the bathroom.
We ate breakfast.
We boarded.
We buckled up.
Four more head bows.
Four more head pats.
Four more “Good job, Dad”s.
And four more Tic Tacs.
By takeoff, every time my neck moved, Rasa salivated.
*
Rasa patted my head and told me “Good job, Dad” at least three more times in flight.
We landed.
She did it again.
We got off.
Again.
Everyone knows how nice it is when you’re in a difficult or stressful situation and someone praises you.
It makes you feel like you’ve got your business in order.
Like you’re doing things right.
Or at least the best that can be done.
But most people probably think that praise should be freely and spontaneously given.
What if you have to tell the other person in advance?
What if you have to signal and remind them?
What if you have to pay them off afterward, so they keep doing it?
And what if, for example, they’re your three-year-old daughter, so it’s not really a choice?
Will it still feel good?
Well, I ran the experiment.
I can tell you.
It totally does.
*
Crissie met us at baggage claim.
“Mom!”
Rasa ran to her.
They hugged and kissed.
“How was it?” Crissie asked.
*
I took a deep breath.
My chest swelled.
I wanted to brag.
No missed meals.
No accidents.
No meltdowns.
For either of us!
In fact, for the past three hours, my daughter had patted my head and praised me at least once every fifteen minutes.
I was rich.
Socio-emotionally.
And all it cost me was a pack of Tic Tacs.
*
As I congratulated myself, Crissie’s hug deepened.
Rasa tried to tell her about the candy.
Crissie was squeezing too hard, though.
“Dad fed me a box of Tic Tacs” came out as “Mmd fmf mf a bmf of Tmf Tmf.”
Crissie’s eyes brimmed.
I was shocked.
She’d missed us so much she was close to crying.
*
I’d gotten my worst-case scenario all wrong, I realized.
What does a mother want to hear when her husband and daughter travel without her for the first time?
That everything went fine?
Maybe even fantastic?
Or as close as possible to the opposite?
*
“Eh…,” I said.
I had all this money.
Socio-emotionally speaking.
The least I could do was spread it around.
I ushered the three of us forward.
I patted Crissie’s back.
“It’s better now with you.”
This one resonated from beginning to end. Thank you for brightening my day, again.