A short tale this morning...

Every weekday I take my three year old (Ava) to daycare for the morning. The routine is no doubt good for both of us, in my case at least forcing a natural nightowl to get out of bed, rather than push ever creeping nocturnal boundaries until they've become crepuscular.

In any case, I do it, and despite living in the age of covid, all has been well. Ava likes to go. She calls it 'going to school', and has a friend (Alex) who is at least as important to her as her stuffed animal, which for a three year old is something like commitment.

This morning we arrived the same time as a little boy and his dad. The boy was about Ava's age, but where as Ava saw her daycare and skipped blithely with excitement, this boy's bones turned to mush, and a keening wail escaped his lips as he flopped into his father's arms.

"He's not usually like this," said the dad, a little red-faced. The daycare staff - experts that they are - took the boy like EMTs with all reassurances, ushering our character inside. "Will he be OK in a few minutes?" said the dad, his hair still wet, his suit freshly pressed, his foot almost tapping with hurry. Yes, they assured, everything is fine.

Ava practically ran to the school without a word. I called 'bye Ava' to her back, which prompted a sort of twist and perfunctory 'bye'. But it's OK. I translated. "Love you Dad," she said, "I trust you to pick me up, and see you later."

Then it was just me and The Hurried Dad. He looked at me, and I recognized the type from my office days. He was a young, ambitious manager working in some building downtown, and just wanted to get to the office early enough the boss would notice. But he couldn't leave.

"He was fine before. I thought he was fine."

Is this OK? I understood. Am I a bad dad and should I be paying more attention and does this mean something terrible?

"Little buggers," I said.

No. Don't worry, I'd told him, you're doing fine, it's perfectly normal, and no one is judging you or him.

He nodded, and turned, a stiffness dimming in his eyes as he walked towards his car. "Have a good day," he said. Hey, thanks a lot.

"You too," I said. You're very welcome.

It wasn't much, no doubt. But we were outside and maskless and in a strange time it was a human moment that reminded me: we need every such moment we can get.

Take care of yourselves and each other, and I hope you're all doing well. Go pet a cat, or buy someone a cup of coffee. The little things help.