A Fist Bump and a Soul Spark

Little victories are worth celebrating

The school carnival. It happens once a year on a Friday evening. Bounce houses. Food trucks. Free cotton candy. Games. Prizes. Laughter. And hundreds of children experiencing a collective sugar high while hoping the fun never ends.

My daughter attended her school carnival last Friday. Sky had the time of her life. She got a butterfly painted on her face. Its wings symbolized freedom. Sweet, wonderful, glorious freedom - an appropriate choice given that Sky had more independence than usual at the event.

You see, before we attended, I asked if she wanted a little more space. I offered to hang back and keep tabs on her from a distance instead of being her constant shadow at the carnival. She’s almost eleven now and is easily embarrassed by almost everything I do or say. Naturally, she was excited about the idea of me becoming a ghost in the background. But before we left the house, she patted me on the hand and said, “I still love you, though, Dad. You’re still cool. I just want you to be cool from a distance, that’s all.”

I put on a brave face as I smiled and nodded. A storm of mixed emotions brewed inside of me. My heart beamed with pride that she’s becoming a strong, confident, independent young woman. Yet, my heart also yearned for the days when she wanted piggyback rides and claimed I was her best friend.

I knew this time would eventually come, and I found solace in knowing I’m not alone. It’s a rite of passage every parent must go through. The pre-teen years are finally here - a nebulous haze of high emotions, anxiety, and new beginnings. There are no instruction manuals for how to cope with these changes. And even if there was, a parent and child might as well rip them up and use them for spare tissues when the tears eventually start flowing (which they often do these days).

Change is hard. But I tried to make it easier and less awkward by voluntarily keeping my distance at the carnival. Of course, a parent can never be too careful in today's world. I trust my daughter, but don’t trust the world enough to let Sky roam a busy event completely unattended. So, it was a delicate balancing act of knowing her whereabouts but keeping enough distance that I wasn’t noticed very much. After all, I wanted to uphold my promise and not trip the Lame Dad Detection Alarm.

If I’m being honest, it was a night of mixed emotions for me. As a single dad of one child, I had no “backup” in the form of other people. I suppose I could have made small talk with parents I know from the school. But I wasn’t feeling all that social. Yet it was impossible to be in a bad mood when so much fun and laughter surrounded me. So, I just watched all the festivities with a smile on my face and experienced joy vicariously from all the happy kiddos running around.

The event was a cacophony of noise and smells and colorful sights. I saw one kid proudly carrying a two-liter of pop like it was a swaddled baby. He boasted to his friends that he won it at the ring toss station. “Mountain Dew for everyone,” he hollered into the heavens.

Another girl blushed as a smiling boy walked by her, and all her friends started whispering to each other. I saw a toddler having a meltdown because he wanted his older sibling’s popcorn, which he was not allowed to have. And I saw the school principal dressed in street clothes but sporting a walkie-talkie on her hip… reminding me that a principal is never really “off duty” from her life’s calling.

Throughout the event, I did what I always do. I observed. It’s a blessing and a curse to notice everything in my environment. Perhaps there’s another version of me somewhere in the multiverse who became a detective, psychologist, or sociologist. My head is always on a swivel, and I don’t miss much. Human behavior fascinates me, and I can’t seem to look away.

One of the highlights of my evening happened when I spotted a young boy walking near the monkey bars. His appearance was unassuming. Messy hair. Thick glasses. Shoelaces untied. One stained cheek from a purple slushie or popsicle. He was walking alone, and for a brief second, I almost felt sorry for him.

But here’s the thing. Although he was walking alone, he didn’t appear lonely. There’s a big difference. He didn’t strike me as one who would be the popular kid in class, and yet, he was comfortable in his own skin. He seemed like the kind who might someday play Dungeons and Dragons rather than high school football. A nerd, to put it bluntly. But a cool nerd who owns the title and is so damned likeable that people leave him alone for the most part. The kind of fellow who doesn’t complain much or cause any trouble. One who flies under the radar and usually does so with a smile on his face. He looked like the kind of boy everyone would be lucky to have as a friend… if only they knew what was right in front of them.

As he strolled along, he passed one of his peers. It was a girl who seemed well put together. Hair pulled back. Stylish boots. A designer handbag dangling off her shoulder. The two kids contrasted so much that they may as well have been from different planets. They stopped and said a few words to each other. I couldn’t hear what was said, but the interaction ended with him offering the girl a fist bump… and she gladly accepted. BOOM!

The boy continued in my direction, and the girl walked the other way. Something was suddenly different, though. The boy’s cheeks pulled his lip upward into a grin. His eyes darted left to right, wondering if anyone had noticed his fist bump with Miss Popular. And then, the boy clenched his fist and jerked his elbow toward his hip with a quick pumping motion. Yessss! The universal sign of celebration and victory.

With his chest puffed out and shoelaces untied, the boy confidently strolled onward through the crowd of noise and sights and smells. In all the commotion, his peers didn’t see his fist bump. But I did. And it filled my achy heart with joy. He’d scored himself a little victory.

Maybe he needed that fist bump more than anyone realizes. Everyone is fighting silent battles we know nothing about. I have a feeling elementary school is merely a time for him to survive. But he’s playing the long game, and it’s only a matter of time before he starts to thrive. Someday, his slushie-stained cheeks will be kissed by a special someone. And while it probably seems a long way off from the boy’s perspective, it will be here all too soon. That’s just how time works.

While his peers will someday be nominated for valedictorian, prom king, or the playoff MVP, that little man has qualities with a longer shelf life. He’s got a pocket full of dreams, a quiet confidence, and a spark in his soul that can’t be extinguished. Years from now, as life gets better and better for him, he won’t recall the fist bump at the carnival. But I know it’s just a precursor for other little victories coming his way.

Moments later, Sky walked over and put her arm around me. She said, “Do you want to snuggle up on the couch and watch a movie when we get home?” Her friend stood beside her, and I couldn’t believe she would ask that in front of a peer.

“Um, yeah, sure… that sounds great,” I replied, trying to play it cool.

“Okay,” she said, “we’ll go say goodbye to everyone and then I’m ready to go.”

I silently nodded as the girls ran off. When nobody was looking, I balled up my fist and pumped my elbow toward my hip. Yessss! A little victory. I’ll take them whenever I can…. just like the little boy with the glasses.

Maybe life itself is a carnival. And perhaps I’m just the clown who is trying to juggle all the changes that go along with parenthood. But it’s quite the spectacle; a show I can’t look away from. Whether you’re a parent with a pre-teen or a child with your whole life ahead of you, there is magic to be seen, fists to be bumped, and little victories to be had.

Thanks for reading,

Andy

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