On the Road Again
Little Bean Walks in the Footsteps of Tough Cookie
Right in the middle of my talk to about 40 residents of Taylor Communities in Laconia, Little Bean chirps up. “Daddy,” she whispers loudly.
We’ve been invited here to talk about rocks and so far she’s been (mostly) behaving herself, but having a high-energy eight year old with you at talks can be unpredictable.
I cover her mic and lean in to see what she needs, but forget that I’m wearing a mic attached to my collar, so everyone can hear her when she whispers, “Can I show them my cartwheel?”
I’m about to decline her gymnastic offer when one of the ladies in the audience shouts, “Let her show us!”
I’ve learned long ago to be flexible when standing in front of a room full of people. Ten years ago, when Janelle toured with me for our book “The Adventures of Buffalo and Tough Cookie” she was a bit older than Little Bean. And Janelle had always been more disciplined, more cerebral and less of a performer.
Not my second daughter though. Shy is not a word in her vocabulary.
So I turn to the crowd and bark like a circus ringmaster, “Would you all like to see my daughter perform a cartwheel?”
They all do, of course. I mean, in that situation, even if you have no interest in cartwheels, you’re not going to be a spoil sport!
Little Bean takes a running start and lands a somewhat decent cartwheel right there, in front of my projector and the adoring crowd. They all cheer and applaud because they are the most polite humans on the planet at that moment, and I’m grateful.
My daughter grins and I say to her, “You good now?” She nods. The crowd settles down. I find my place back into the presentation and we move on.
Ten years ago, I spent almost two years on the road with my first daughter and with our first book. And now, here I am, beginning to tour with my second daughter for our new series of books.
I watch Little Bean’s good humor and poise as people come up to our table and she signs books. She’s brought a container of rocks as give-aways, and she draws a little sketch in every book that someone buys.
She’s treated like an author. She answers so many questions as best she can, but when a audience member gets a little too specific about something and she can’t remember, she’ll look my way and I’ll pipe up. Just like Tough Cookie used to do.
I don’t know anyone so fortunate as myself - to have the privilege of being on the road with both daughters, to explore the little towns and hamlets, to eat the gas station food together and dip our toes in the streams together.
There’s a vulnerability to travel, to moving outside your comfort zones, that can happen when it’s just you and her and a dirt road and some pens and a bag of chips. It’s easier to move inward toward each other.
We’re tired after the event, after leaving it all on the floor there in a small retirement community event hall. My mouth is dry and Little Bean is neither reading nor playing on her tablet. She’s just sitting looking out the window.
“Hey,” I say. “You did really good today. I’m super proud of you.”
“How proud?”
“Lots.”
“How lots?” she asks.
“Is this going somewhere?”
“Are you ice cream proud?”
“I am,” I say. “I’m ice cream proud.”
We pull into an ice cream stand, one of those local joints with a walk up window. She gets a strawberry and marshmallow frappe and I get a cup of straight up vanilla.
And we sit there and eat. The road gives us sugar, and time. And I know - I’m certain - this all has meaning, like it did ten years ago, like it will in the future.
“I think I’m ready to go home, daddy,” she says finally. She nods off in the car, and we drive home in silence. My daughter and me. On the road. Together.
just lovely - such a special time. building character, confidence and connection. Ice Cream Proud indeed!
I love "ice cream proud"! What a cute way to say it. I had two elderly relatives who lived at the Taylor retirement community when I was a young child. Back then, all they had was the main building, called The Taylor Home.