What I did not know before becoming the father of a two-year-old is that buried deep in the psyche of most adults lurks a nearly irresistible compulsion to pass out lollipops.
Everywhere my daughter goes, someone asks me or her mother “can she have a sucker?” Our little chud get lollipops at the bank, at school, at church, at the homes of relatives, and today, from strangers on the street.
Earlier this morning, my daughter and I along with her grandparents went touring the main street of a town nearby. It’s one of those quaint places full of antique shops and country gift stores.
I held my daughter’s hand as she pushed her doll Sally along the sidewalk. When we ducked into a store we’d find someone at the register and politely asked her to “babysit” Sally until we were finished browsing.
On the way back to the car, we passed two women standing in front of their business.
“Oh, isn’t she beautiful,” they both squealed.
We stopped.
“Say thank you,” I instructed.
“Thank you,” the Chud’s tiny voice said.
The women only squealed again.
Then it happened. One of them looked at me. Her eyes were as wide as her smile as she pointed to my daughter, standing in the sun, one hand still on the toy stroller, the other fighting the breeze that blew her blond locks across her blue eyes.
“Can she have a sucker ?,” the woman mouthed silently. I said yes, as usual. Today, it was a cherry tootsie pop that lasted all the way home. My daughter is growing up to believe the world is the kind of place where lollipops appear out of thin air as a reward for being you. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
[...] are unable to prevent themselves from giving certain children or, in our case, a certain child, lollipops. Sometimes, these friendly, stick-bound candies turn up in the oddest [...]