Beth had spent most of the afternoon playing with the plump pink balloon. First, she had danced through the kitchen, watching the pastel orb bob and weave behind her. After that, she sat on the dining room floor and giggled as she yanked on the string and watched the balloon jerk up and down. Finally, she had followed me through the house tugging her pink pet behind her.
When I stepped into the bedroom, I never thought anything could go wrong. I never realized I would spoil the fun. I never even considered the danger of the ceiling fan.
You guessed it. The balloon string was long. The fan was on. Before I knew what had happened, the fan yanked the balloon from Beth’s grip and twisted it toward the ceiling. We heard a loud POP and I knew the balloon was no more.
Beth looked at me with her sad round eyes, as if to say, “Fix it.” I untangled the string from the fan and shook my head. There was no way I could fix this one.
Part of me wanted to say, “It’s just a balloon. It’s not as if something important was broken. Like the TV. Or my computer.”
It’s funny how our view of important changes as we grow up. One day the most important thing in the world is a pink balloon. Then, before we know what happened, the most important thing in the world is figuring out how much withholding we should allocate to ensure that our taxes are properly paid for next year.
That’s what’s so wonderful about being a parent. You get another shot at redefining important. Suddenly, unimportant becomes the report you were suppose to complete for your boss by Monday morning. And important becomes tracking down a pair of yellow shoes so your almost eight-year-old son will have a kicking Mickey Mouse Halloween costume. When you are a parent, you suddenly realize that hanging out at happy hour, though a pleasant diversion, isn’t nearly as important as you once believed. Suddenly, important is waking up early on Saturday morning to take your five year old to her gymnastic class, not because she loves gymnastics but because she adores wearing the frilly leotards.
For a parent, reading the Wall Street Journal is unimportant. Reading “Fancy Nancy” and “Olivia” is important. Watching the ten o’clock news is unimportant. Watching “Beauty and the Beast” for the tenth time is important.
When I looked into Beth’s wet eyes at that moment, I knew that there was nothing more important in the world than the pink balloon. I scooped Beth into my arms and squeezed her tight until her sobs faded. When she seemed calmer, I set her back on her feet.
“How about we go and get a glass of juice?” I suggested.
Beth didn’t respond.
“Then how about I give you a pony ride on my back?” I tried.
Beth's face lit up and she nodded her head. A few minutes later, there I was galloping around the house shouting, “neigh.” And it was the most important thing I had done all day.
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