Dad on Duty #100

Being Bobby.

Sounds like a cool movie….maybe.

Except in this case it’s about wearing an itchy, hot suit while your daughter leads you around and interprets for you (‘cause you can’t hear a damn thing).

We’ve done that job for nearly six years.  SIX. YEARS.

More or less once a week.  It adds up to about 240 hours of fuzziness.  I challenge you to think of something you’ve done for 240 hours as a calling.

Today it ended.

It was a tough job.  Hot, uncomfortable, inconvenient.

And yet, ending it today, was even tougher.

Thank all of you for having us for all these years.  Thank you, her teachers, for tolerating the disruption.

When we finished today, we both cried, quite a bit, in the bathroom (where we get dressed and undressed).  It was our quiet time, together.  We both talked to Bobby, and thanked him and told him we loved him.

And then we told him goodbye.

Then Tori, because it’s her job, put the suit in the bag and carried it to the supply room.  Herself.  Without my help.  The consummate professional, even at the end.

And she went on to her class, and I went out to the hallway to herd kids.

We moved on.

As we will.

Goodbye, Bobby.  We love you.

Very first day ever as Bobby.  Tori was so little she let Makenzie May handle it.

2nd grade.  I dunno why ears are in down/angry mode….

4th grade.  Tori explaining to the kids what name tags adults *should* be wearing, what to do if you see an adult you don’t know,
and how to properly interact with Bobby.  She did this every year for 5 years.

Our very last Bobby time.