It was “Favorites Day” at school— wear your favorite clothes, bring your favorite snack, share your favorite toy for show-and-tell.
That morning, Avery picked out his favorite Mickey Mouse sweater with matching Mickey Mouse pants, and red shoes that complimented his hair and cheeks.
Downstairs, he rummaged the cabinet for applesauce, crackers, and strawberry bars for snacks.
Then he picked out his favorite toy—today, a stuffed animal in the shape of a purple-and-teal snail.
As we walked to school, he carried it proudly.
“His name is Snail-or-Worm.”
We walked to school. Avery moving at the speed of a four-year-old. Me, pushing his baby sister in the stroller.
Kindergarten was starting in five minutes, and we still had a ways to go.
“Look at me Daddy. I can run very fast.”
Avery ran for a second to showed me his speed, but then every rock, stick, and storm drain we passed caught his attention.
They fascinated him, and he wanted to explore.
“Do we have time for me to climb this secret shortcut?”
He pointed to a retaining wall divider that skirted the street then began to walk along its edge with Snail-or-Worm.
“Sure.”
We didn’t, but putting that pressure on him wouldn’t solve anything. Still, I wanted to get him to school without a tardy bit it to the office, so when he finished, I asked if I could carry him. He lifted his little arms in surrender.
I picked him up and set him on my shoulders. I’d carried him like this before, but not in a while, and never with purpose. Now we were in a hurry. He likes kindergarten, wanting to get there as early as possible every day, so he held on tight, wrapping himself around my head with everything he had. His chin bumped against my skull with each step. His weight shifted, uneven, straining my shoulders and neck.
“I’ve got you,” I said, steadying his foot with my hand. “See this? As long as I’m holding on, you can’t fall.”
Still, he squeezed tighter.
“Daddy,” he said, pressing his fingers into my face. “I’m going to fall.”
“You can’t,” I said. Then, trying a different angle: “Hey Avery. Can you fall?”
“No,” he said. Then, after a beat: “I know I’m safe, but I’m still a little-bit scared. Is that okay, Daddy?”
“Yeah,” I said at last. “You can be scared. I’ve got you, even if you are.”
Together, we kept moving—his chin against my head, one hand clinging to my face, Snail-or-Worm still clenched in the other—not comfortable, but okay. We both were.
~
When we arrived at school, and Inset him down, his face fell.
“It’s not stuffed-animal day.”
I looked around.
All his classmates were carrying toy cars, action figures, and dinosaurs.
“Stuffed animals are toys.”
He shook his head. Then placed Snail-or-Worm back in the stroller beside his baby sister and began to cry.
“What toy would you like instead? I can bring it to you.”
He paused.
“Toys are something from the toy box.”
His face hardened against the sadness inside.
Then he turned his back on Snail-or-Worm and headed to his classroom without a toy for show-and-tell.
~
I called Dani while walking home.
“What do I do?”
A few minutes later she texted me a list.
I ran through Avery’s room collecting toys. Five minutes later I had a bag slung over my shoulder and was riding my bike back to the school office.
His teacher brought him out to meet me.
He looked small, quiet, and unsure.
I opened the bag.
“Hey. Would you like one of these for show-and-tell?”
He peered inside. Hesitant at first, then with growing excitement he reached in and pulled out a plastic pig from the pumpkin patch last fall.
He squeezed it, and the pig oinked.