Your mom used to heroify your Uncle Paul. Same with your Auntie Jess who used to heroify your dad. Older brothers like Uncle Paul and your dad find themselves in this position, as heroes, with no clue how to respond, how to bear that responsibility. The heroic angle they're viewed from adoring little sisters is precious. It's a thing to behold. By the time these big brothers realize it, the little sisters in their life figure out that big brothers are fallible, horribly fallible, people.
Your dad will be given a second chance as a hero from you. But he's a smart guy. He knows now that he's not qualified to be a hero. He doesn't meet the prerequisites. Too cowardly to fail a second time at being heroified.
By the time your mom and dad put you to bed each night, a tiny pang of regret flashes in his gut. I didn't teach her a single new word today, he thinks. I didn't dance with her to Swan Lake. I didn't throw her into the air and catch her. I didn't play peekaboo, not even once. I didn't cut her sandwich into triangles the way she likes. I didn't splash her in the tub during bathtime.
Doing nothing moves Time too fast. If Time figures you're not doing anything with the hours, Time slips away. Time has other things to do. If Time's not being appreciated, Time'll find someone who appreciates it.
This is when your dad starts making New Year's Resolutions, no matter what day of the week it is. I'll sneak slang into our conversations, he says. I'll pirouette and leap like I'm the Lord of the Dance. I'll throw her into the air until she can't stop laughing. I'll hide and I'll seek until we've long since run out of good spots. I'll cut her food into squares and circles and isoceles triangles and cats. I will attend to her status before I update my own. I'll slow Time.
