09 June 2004


So I was in bed, noontime, sleeping. Gabbi barges in, wakes me up and asks me, "Are you still sick, Papa?". Parental love kicks in and starts administering extra large doses of control and patience. I look at her and feebly answer, "Yes". She stares at me for a second and goes out the room. I could hear her talk about her first day of school. How math is her first subject tomorrow, etc. etc.

Lulu comes home around two or so. I don't know since she didn't wake me up. Nice girl. Well, except that she used the computer when she wasn't supposed to since it was a school day. I woke up around three pm at the tail end of their illegal computer time.

I go back to bed around five when the two kids with MY WALLET in hand barge in and noisily ask if they can have McDonald's fries and sundae. Too weak and groggy to think, I mumble a yes.

Lulu comes close and touches my forehead, "You're still sick". I am amazed that she wasn't blinded by the obvious. Gabbi lies down next to me and starts singing a Hilary Duff song. Something about Math. Just when I'm close to escaping back dreamland, the kids are shouting again. The food has arrived. They noisily come in, marching back and forth. Holding the fries and sundae as if it was to be used as a ceremonial sacrifice.

I look at them. And smile.

Man. Pure unadulterated fatherhood. That's the only medicine I need.