If You Give a Dad a Muffin...

I’m spying on Justin in the backyard with our daughters; the three of them are putting on a “pet show.” London and Eve stand, backs straight, feet together with their pets in their arms. They wait for their scores. They are serious and expectant, lost in play. Justin’s voice booms as he reveals the winners. London giggles, jumps up and down, as her deer is named “Fastest Rainbow Deer” of the competition. Eve’s entire body smiles when her horse, Soda Pop, takes top honors as “Most Beautiful.”

I watch from the kitchen where I’m making blueberry donut muffins with lemon glaze for Father’s Day. The sweet bread rises in the oven, golden, blueberry breaking through the cracks and running onto the muffin tin. Every inch of my little house smells of baked goods.

This blueberry muffin is my turtledove, a small offering unworthy of the one to whom it is given. It is as perfect a thing as I know how to make and I offer it as a glimpse of all the perfection I long to give. 

This morning, with flour in my hair, I want to say thank you to the pet show announcer. Thank you for being the kind of father who makes pretend real. For being present. For being silly. For being wise.