Going the extra mile for Parker
My commitment to be there when she needs me most.
Five minutes after the quiet hour, Parker sauntered from her bedroom to the living room last Thursday.
She still has that classic kid way of talking, where instead of asking directly, she sheepishly hints at what she wants. It’s her little defense mechanism against rejection.
“I was going to ask you for help with my homework,” she murmured, as if expecting me to say no.
We’re still instilling the importance of speaking up and positive thinking.
But if she thinks I can still help with math, she might need a reality check!
I’m a writer for a reason. My math brain betrayed me when I was Parker’s age. The only numbers that have ever made sense are sports statistics and money.
That didn’t stop this dad from giving it his best shot. I focused intently on the question on Parker’s Chromebook for five minutes. She insisted it was a math equation, but to me, it might as well have been an instruction manual written in Cantonese.
Defeat soon set in. A harsh realization followed.
I cut into a nine-day work trip and flew 1,500 miles from Phoenix to Chicago at 5:30 a.m. last Thursday morning, just to be stumped by advanced fifth grade math.
It’s not at all the experience I wanted to give Parker during our one night together before I was scheduled to fly out again last Friday morning.
Seeing her disappointment cut me deeply. Something had to be done.
And so I did what I’ve done since I was 11.
I called my big brother, Parker’s Uncle Clifton. His math brain has always worked better than mine.
I exchanged quick greetings and handed my phone to Parker. They had work to do. Parker asked if she could FaceTime so she could show her Uncle Clifton the Cantonese written on her Chromebook. If I didn’t feel bad enough, Clifton solved the problem so quickly that he passed the phone to his 18-year-old daughter, my niece Bryana, a high school senior.
Bryana is a math whiz, a coder and is consumed by wanderlust. She has a lot in common with her youngest cousin. But outside of FaceTime, they only get to see each other during our annual summer trip to Oklahoma. And after graduation, Bryana plans to study abroad — in the Czech Republic!
“Please don’t leave before I come,” Parker pleaded with Bryana over FaceTime.
Someday, the two might travel the world together.
But last Thursday night, Bryana patiently helped Parker with her homework. She did everything I couldn’t. She talked Parker through strategies rather than supplying solutions. She encouraged Parker when she was on the right track and gave gentle reminders when Parker strayed from trusted processes.
Suddenly, I was glad to have been stumped by advanced fifth-grade math.
My cluelessness turned into a cherished family moment, and it never would have happened if I hadn’t flown home.
The organic scene forced me into deep reflection about critical questions central to my transformation.
How do I spend my time? What do I prioritize? Who truly matters?
My pit stop in Chicago lasted a little less than 24 hours, and I had to cross mountains and miss work to make it happen.
I picked up Parker from school like I do every Thursday, and we made her monthly investment into the VYM.
Triest welcomed us back with a home cooked steak and salmon dinner. Parker and Tiffany played together with slime. The four of us discussed the complex emotions and consequences that come with “snitching.” Only this time, it wasn’t Parker, aka Dirty Face Stickler Rat, telling on someone. Instead, Parker finally got a lesson on what it feels like when someone tells on her. We used it as a teachable moment.
As much as I didn’t want to, because I missed everyone so much, we stuck to the quiet hour.
Parker and I were in the 5 a.m club Friday morning, using our reading segment to listen to “Good to Great.” I made Parker and Tiffany oatmeal for breakfast, and I dropped Parker at school before boarding a 10:30 a.m. flight to Los Angeles.
I flew an additional 2,325 miles to be home for one night last week.
These are the final days of Parker’s pre-adolescent years. My presence — and yes, Parker, my preaching — matters more than ever.
As she morphs from a caterpillar into a butterfly, I’m reminded that my place is by her side as she spreads her wings.
In that moment of struggle over math homework, I understood that support takes many forms. And sometimes, simply showing up means more than any answer I could give.
I might not know math, Parker, but I know I’ll always be there for you.
What legacy will you leave your children?
My mother shared a sermon last week, which is not unusual.
This post brought a huge smile to my face and a bit of moisture to my eyes. Darnell, you are a talented writer, but by all appearances an even better father. Thank you for sharing this story.