Father of the Year

It is October- a time for harvest festivals, hay rides, Halloween and... Daddy of the Year.  What images are evoked by such a moniker?  A young father teaching his child to read?  One in his midlife, teaching his teenager to drive?  Regardless of what colors your mind's eye, I saw a better one tonight.

Since her first cast, Hip Chick and hair washing have been poor companions.  We have tried various approaches, to much avail.  It is always a two person job, due to her size, weight, and escalating hysteria.  But recently Daddy finally cracked that coconut shell.  What did he do, pray tell?  Offer gifts?  Sing and dance?  Dress up as her favorite cartoon character?

One word:  water.  As in: buckets and buckets of water.

Envision... me holding our spunky child in her giant cast near the bathroom sink, head spinning around like an 80's horror flick, shrieks spewing like an indoor fire sprinkler.  And her daddy: laid a towel on the bathroom floor, kneeled down, and challenged her to dump water on his head until she was no longer afraid.  He even laid on his back and let her dump water on his face from a three foot elevation.  (The latter finally evoked giggles from both Hip Chick and Mommy.)  When she still had difficulty with her hair wash, he let her dump water on his face afterward until she laughed.

There are "great father" milestones which are a given or a typical rite of passage.  But subjecting one's self to waterlogging so their immobilized child won't dread a hair wash?  Priceless.