A toddler with a blond bob (Nora, five years ago), stirs a bowl of imaginary soup then puts the spoon to mommy’s lips, her eyebrows raised.
“Mmm, mmm!” Mommy sips. “Delicious!”
The little girl turns to her daddy. He bends down to taste.
“Blech!” he makes a sour face and spews pretend soup. The little girl giggles spasmodically.
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A man brings home a few old wine crates, paints them orange, adds wheels and a BMW emblem. Baby rolls in style.
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A can of marking spray paint converts the backyard into a proper soccer field.
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There are innumerable daddy-daughter day trips, to luscious waterfalls, placid lakes at the foot of Mt. Hood, lush forests. Picnic baskets are stocked with sweet treats to be shared. A potty chair in the back of the car.
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He is the first to notice when she’s ready for the next challenge: getting her own glass of water by pulling out the bottom drawer and standing on it, crossing the street, taking full responsibility for feeding the dog and recording it on a special chart.
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Presents are the opportunity to demonstrate trust and the possibilities the world offers:
- a tiny, pink Swiss army knife
- a model airplane to assemble
- a bow and arrow
- a mini-Dutch bicycle
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Branches trimmed from the pear tree and draped with tarps become a magical backyard fort.
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Deftly wielding a lancet, he pierces the skin of his wife’s forefinger and checks her blood sugar dozens of times during her labor and recovery.
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He sits bouncing on an exercise ball. A second daughter, fussy and with the sea-anemone-like movements of an infant, finally falls perfectly limp as she’s cradled in her father’s arms.
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Happy Father’s Day, Ben Campbell. You are loved beyond measure.