Easy as 1-2-3

I am well-versed in accepting the vagaries of the universe. I have lived through many experiences which began inexplicably and affected me, though they existed outside of my control. I like to think that like Hamlet’s Horatio, I accept life’s rewards and buffets with equal thanks. I do not fancy myself as a pipe for Fortune’s finger. Every once in a while, though, something happens that blows my mind.

I want to believe that this is completely random and bears no reflection on my effectiveness as a father.

I want to believe that this is completely random and bears no reflection on my effectiveness as a father.

Last night during dinner, Madison and I started playing a letter search on her kids’ menu. My original intention was to simply ask her to circle letters already printed on the menu. Madison, however, had other ideas. “No, dad,” I’ll write the letters, then you have to find them,” she said. “Fine,” I said. She took the crayon and wrote in silence for a few minutes. “Okay, dad, your turn,” she finally said. I looked at the paper and this is what she had written. Oh. My. God.

I want to stress the fact that she wasn’t writing words. She was simply writing individual letters for me to find. It just so happened that she wrote these three letters in this order, this close together.

I guess I can kind of see it.

I guess I can kind of see it.

My first reaction was disbelief. The second thing I thought of was this supposed subliminal message in Disney’s The Lion King. Now? I don’t know. Of course because of the way I view the world, it’s comical to me. I also do not believe Madison even knows this words exists since Lynnette and I have between two and twenty-seven synonyms for the word “sex,” so we never use it. In the world of spies and espionage, this is what is known as a “code.” I posted the picture of Madison’s work in Instagram last night and received several comments ranging from “Whoa” to “OMG” to “Good luck with that.” Sigh.

It’s just one of those moments, though, that reminds me how amazing it is to be a parent. As a (mostly) practical adult, I can’t spend a whole lot of time thinking and/or worrying about things that don’t matter. And since my entire existence is predicated upon thinking and/or worrying about things that don’t matter, one might begin to understand why the transition into adulthood was and is so difficult for me. Marriage and employment and mortgage make me forget that sometimes little instances of frivolity are both possible and pretty damn awesome.

I mean, it really could have been worse:

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