"...and you will never see your eleventh anniversary!"


Rhiannon has a temper. Or she's developed one. Where it came from is anybody's guess. I blame Michael Banner. Or radiation. Or something. Usually Rhiannon is sunny, occasionally mostly sunny, so it is rare, and shocking, when she turns green, doubles her size, and starts talking like one of the jilted women on All My Children. Or American Idol.

One of these rare exhibits happened Wednesday, and it is only now that I can recount the trauma visited on me by my only child, my daughter who has sat on my lap as we played World of Warcraft together, my daughter whom I have carried up mountains on my shoulders, my daughter who still weighs forty pounds, a weight she has held for two years. Maybe she should eat something.

Anyway, the fight started because Rhiannon's teacher told mom and me during parent/teacher conference that Rhiannon needs to start holding her pencil correctly more often. Rhiannon will hold the pencil properly when Miss Mark is watching, but as soon as her back is turned, Rhiannon returns to the fist-grip. So I thought that maybe she should start writing properly at home.

The first page of homework went well, and she held her pencil the right way. I excused myself to check email while Rhiannon got going on the second page. I came back a moment later.

"Rhiannon, hold your pencil correctly please."

"No. I like it this way."

"But Rhiannon, if you hold the pencil the right way you can write and draw better."

"No. It's messy."

"You just need practice."

"No I don't."

"Your first page was fine."

"I don't like it."

"Please do the second page while holding your pencil the right way."

"No!"

Hmm. It's unique that Rhiannon digs in like this.

"OK. I was going to make you a surprise dinner, but it will have to wait until you are finished."

"No."

Since when has this child turned down a surprise dinner?

"OK. You know, the singing show (aka American Idol) is on in an hour. I would hate for you to have to miss it because your homework was not done."

"Dad, I will finish my homework, but I want to hold the pencil the wrong way."

She knows she holds the pencil incorrectly.

"No. Hold it the right way. Finish this one page and you are done."

Rhiannon tries to rip up her homework.

"OK. You need some quiet time. Go lie down."

Rhiannon goes to her room.

"DAD! TURN ON THE LIGHT. RIGHT NOW!"

"No. Lie there quietly and think about coming back to finish your homework holding your pencil the right way."

"NO!"

Rhiannon comes storming out of her room and heads for the door.

"You are not going outside."

"I am going to wait for mom to get home." She is in tears now, angry ones. "And I am going to tell her everything you did and how mean you are. You are not my daddy anymore and when I tell mom what happened you will never see your eleventh anniversary! I don't want that to happen, but it might." [Yes, she actually said this.]

I lock the door. Rhiannon starts screaming. The upstairs neighbors bang on the floor.

"Do you hear that? The neighbors can hear you. And they will come downstairs if you keep it up."

Rhiannon looks scared. She stops with the histrionics. The door opens. Mom is home. I retire to my office. There is a compromise. Then dinner. Then singing. I wonder if I should have given in. I don't think so. But now I have given her a memory.

At 8:30 Rhiannon is ready for bed. I come in to kiss her goodnight.

"I love you, daddy."

"I love you, too, Rhiannon. But don't do what you did again."

"Okay."

And she closes her eyes and smiles. The storm has blown itself out. The house rests. I find myself laughing at the rage within her and the fact that she would not give in to a simple request even if it meant no TV, no special dinner. We could have finished in two minutes had she given in and held her pencil the right way. I find she is like me that way sometimes. Sometimes I fight to win. Sometimes I fight not to lose. I fight on principle. And Rhiannon is being true to herself. But I still wish she would hold her pencil the right way.

Rhiannon. Incredibly cute.

Andrew (Papa)