By Michael Eng | Managing Editor
I could feel my 2-year-old daughter’s grip tightening around me with every step. And even though — in my head — I knew the outcome, I kept convincing myself it would be different.
I had to. It was the only way I could justify standing in such a long line so Aria could take one little lap atop a pony.
After all, it was all she could talk about — even before we climbed into the car to go to Antioch Days last weekend. And even as we stood in line, she reiterated to me her intentions.
Of our two children, she’s the daredevil, so I was optimistic her bravery would squelch any apprehension a tiny horse possibly could bring.
Boy, was I wrong.
With her arms clamped firmly around my neck, she screamed in terror as we approached the pony. I looked up helplessly at the ride attendant, who only could smile and shrug her shoulders.
“I guess we’ll have to try another time,” I told her.
Aria buried her face in my shoulder as we made our way out of the line.
In hindsight, that was the only way our outing could have ended.
Like many dads, I’m guilty of harboring sky-high expectations, so when I perused the Antioch Days website, my mind created all kinds of Norman Rockwell-ian images: My children gleefully shouting “choo-choo!” as we chugged along on the train; the four of us walking hand-in-hand through the festival grounds; our children’s faces and fingers dusted with powdered sugar after we all shared a funnel cake.
But here’s the reality: The four of us packed ourselves like sardines on a train seat built for two, and both of our children zig-zagged through the crowd and constantly tried to wiggle their fingers from our grasp. At one point, our 4-year-old son, Lyric — even after performing his telltale pee dance — flung himself into the dirt, screaming that he didn’t have to use the facilities.
(It’s not that he didn’t have to use it. Rather, he was afraid of the port-o-lets. This is the same boy who won’t use a public toilet if it automatically flushes.)
Oh, and we never got that funnel cake.
It’s not Antioch Days’ fault. With everything from cloggers and balloon animals to a dunk tank and paddle boats, the Plant City tradition is packed with family fun. It’s a time when The Church at Antioch pays homage to the generations who came before — the founders of the church, which was established in 1854.
And, frankly, it’s not even our kids’ fault. Sure, they weren’t the model of perfect behavior my wife and I absolutely deserve 24/7, but they also are 2 and 4 years old. Truthfully, they weren’t behaving in any other way than they knew how. Their world is governed by the simplest rules: Hunger, exhaustion, fear, impulse.
Rather, I was the one with the extraordinarily lofty perception of how the outing would go. I was the one trying to shoehorn my children into a morning that fit my own ideals. And, yes, I was the one who decided not to focus on all the perfect memories Antioch Days actually brought.
We started the day sifting through sand for treasures, and both kids worked together to find their keepsakes.
While waiting in line for the train in my wife’s arms, Lyric placed his head on her shoulder and snuggled just a little closer. He remained still for several minutes, as my wife beamed. As he grows older, those moments are becoming less frequent.
And for me, as Aria’s fear of the pony overcame her, she clung to her dad for protection. Throughout her life, there likely will be many, many more times when I won’t be right there to comfort her. But in that day, in that moment, I was there for her.
A father can’t ask for much more than that.
Later that night, as Aria and I read her bedtime story, we came across a page with a horse.
“Look!” I said. “Don’t you want to ride one?”
“Nope,” she said.
“No? Isn’t he cute?”
“Nope. Don’t want to.”
“Well, why not?”
“He’s going to bite me,” she said.
Then, she thought for a minute.
“I’ll ride him when I’m 4,” she said.
“I’m sure you will,” I replied. “That sounds like a great plan. Can Daddy come, too?”
“Yep, you can come.”